A Brother to Dragons
by TriggerHappyWorld
Summary: How can a man with no memory solve the biggest mystery of his life? B/A relationship, A/L partnership, and characters from SVU and L&O. Part 5 in series.
1. Jules Verne

A/N: Part 5 in my series of stories. It follows 'When the Blood Burns'. With my past stories, I tried to keep it along the canon timeline and plot, straying here and there but eventually bringing it around to fit within the lines. However, I decided to take a leap and break canon timeline and plot altogether with this story. So I'm officially off into my own little Alternate Universe from here on out.

Pairing: B/A, M/D….I don't mind other writers writing Mike/Carolyn, however, I've never been a true believer in that relationship personally. The reason I chose Denise, a completely unknown character in canon other than a name mentioned once, is because it'll give me the opportunity to create an original character.

Rating: T (M for selected chapters)

Warnings: All the usual, and now including Alternate Universe.

Disclaimer: I own what I've created; Dick Wolf owns what's his.

Summary: "I am a brother to dragons, and a companion to owls." - Job 30:29

* * *

_He couldn't move. As his heavy eyelids fluttered open, confusion and fear set in as the realization of paralysis took over. The only thing he could move were his eyes. He saw the passing streets as neon lights streamed through his glazed sight; the lights stretched on for miles. They were the lights of the city and of passing cars, but they were fuzzy, fragments of light, movement, and shadow that appeared and then disappeared. Static noises vibrated in his ears as he continued to stare out into the world that kept moving, going on and on. He tried to move again, this time his head, but couldn't. He couldn't even feel the window he was leaning against. _

_What was going on and why couldn't he move? An overwhelming sense of helplessness gripped him with that thought, making his slowly beating heart tremble. Closing his eyes, he willed the feeling to go away._

_When he woke, an unfamiliar fan circled above him against a dark grey plastered ceiling. Looking around to his right, there stood a woman. Dark hair tickled at his face as she leaned over his body. That was when he realized he could feel._

_He could break free. _

_Jerking his arms forward, they caught and strained as he pulled. Looking back toward the head of the bed, his arms were bound by a set of handcuffs…His handcuffs, he wondered as he_ _laid in a bed that wasn't his own. Letting his eyes fall back on the only other person in the room, he felt the hot trembling rush of rage as his ears started to ring._

_The ringing was starting to hurt his head as tears of pain welled. She had done something to him. She had taken him, abducted him and …what? Drugged him? Clenching his eyes shut, he felt her fingers skim down over his bare chest. The tingling was like being electrocuted. Trying to move away from her touch, it only caused the cuffs to tighten around his wrists._

_Shutting his eyes, he willed myself awake. All he could do was jerk to the right and…_

His body jerked right at the exact moment gravity took over. A sharp pain flared in his head as he tumbled, tangled in sheets, and hit something hard and solid with a deafening crack.

"Aw, fuck," he groaned as the taste of blood from biting his lip filled his cotton-dried mouth.

Forcing the gagging aside at the taste, he spat as much blood out as he could onto the floor. He breathed in deeply while shaking violently as he barely blinked his eyes open. A blue neon sign was partly seen outside the window above him

_Royal Mot-_, he read before his vision once again slid to darkness.

His head felt foggy when he awoke again. A soft groan escaped his dry lips as he rolled over onto his back. He felt hung-over, like he'd spent the whole day and night drinking. Every muscle in his body felt tight, aching and dry…He was terribly dehydrated. Dragging himself up off the floor, he kicked the sheet off his feet as he searched around for the bathroom.

Stumbling through the entryway, he felt his stomach ache and then twist up into his chest. The dry heaving stung his already sore throat, making tears of pain well up in his eyes. Taking a couple of deep breaths, he was able to finally settle the heaving as he gripped tightly at the edges of the counter top. He turned the cold water on and splashed his face a few times, trying to wake his head up. Then he ducked his head under the faucet as he took in mouthfuls of water. He was aching for water. Using his hand, he drank until his stomach ached and neck hurt from the odd angle.

Staring down at the sink, he watched the water drip down as he tried to think. At the moment, he didn't know anything. He had no idea where he was or why, but that was the least of his worries. As he peered up into the mirror at himself, he stared in a dark pair of bloodshot eyes that were foreign to him. Skimming over his face, the stubble over his jaw line and chin, running over his upper lip, he wrinkled his head in thought as he willed the fogginess in his head away. He needed clarity. He needed a memory.

He needed to know who he was.

Looking down at his bare body, took in the chest hair, the faint lines of scars, his long legs, scarred knees, and feet. He could see his body, feel it, but it was like seeing it for the first time through the eyes of a stranger.

He willed the fear of panic away as he closed his eyes and rested his tired foggy head against the mirror. Through the deep breathing and the racing thoughts, he heard a faint ringing. It started in the back of his head and grew closer until it was loud and intrusive, until he couldn't think. Reaching up, he cupped his ears as it vibrated within his entire head. Feeling the panic, then anger kick in, he let out a yell right before he slammed a hand into the mirror and then grabbing it, pulled the cabinet off the wall and threw it into a wall.

The shattering snapped him out of the his sudden rage as he stood stunned in the bathroom staring at the broken glass. Looking at his hand, he saw a bandage already wrapped around the hand he'd slammed into the glass. He'd done something like that before. That thought didn't feel like an assumption; it felt like a fact.

Then, he noticed his wrists. There were abrasions and bruises over them all the way around in a circle. Rubbing at them, he wondered what had made the marks. Was he tied down? Shaking his head of the absurdity of what was happening to him, he looked around the bathroom and saw nothing that could help him so he left.

Out in the room, he took it in completely for the first time and realized it was a motel room. The bed was unmade, sheet on the floor and blanket bunched up at the bottom. There was a pile of clothes on the opposite side of the bed from where he'd woken up. Picking up the boxer shorts first, he slipped them on and then grabbed the pair of black jeans. Digging into his pocket, he found no wallet but he did find a money clip with cash. After dressing in the jeans and t-shirt, he slipped on his socks and shoes before picking up the jacket and dug into the pockets. Again there was no wallet but he did have a keychain full of keys.

Looking through the drawers of the nightstand, he found the motel room key and nothing else. After a thorough search of the room and bathroom, he discovered that he hadn't planned on staying in that motel room for long. Everything was empty and there was no suitcase or bags of any kind in the small closet. Making sure there was nothing to be found, and with not finding anything, he opened the door and left.

It was cold in the early dawn air as he zipped up his jacket and headed to the front office. Feeling highly paranoid, he kept looking around parking lot and at anyone and thing that moved. Out on the street, cars, taxis, trucks, and buses went by, all the noise was making his head hurt even more. In the distance he could hear sirens getting closer and then fading away.

A man was coming out of the office as he approached it; the man looked over at him, gave him the once over, and then kept walking as he took out a cigarette. He noticed a bulge in the man's leather jacket, in the back…He had a gun.

How he knew that he had no idea. He watched the guy for a few seconds before opening the door and slipping inside the heated office. A young woman sat behind the desk with a cup of coffee at her lips. She wore black leather, had multiple piercings in her ears, nose and eyebrows, and her short cut black hair had some red dye throughout parts of it.

As he approached the counter, she didn't pay any attention to him as her eyes were focused on the little TV screen in the corner. Looking toward the screen, he saw some Japanese animation cartoon playing on it. He dropped the key on the counter and then cleared his throat as he waited for her to turn around.

When she did, she barely glanced at him as she picked up the key, saying, "I thought I told you to leave it in the room when you left."

"You told me that…When?"

She put the key up on a hook as she answered, "Two days ago."

So, he was had been in that room for two days. But why and was he alone? "Was, uh…was there someone else with me?"

That caused her to look up at him. The young woman, who looked to be in her very early twenties gave him an amused smile as she said, "A woman. I knew you were wasted when you arrived; you could barely walk. She practically had to drag you to the room."

He leaned on the counter as he took all of that in. Looking at his left hand, he saw no ring on his finger and he didn't think he'd been married to anyone. Giving a nod, he said, "I, uh…I don't remember…Um, did we arrive in a car together?"

"You two walked up, but like I said, she was practically carrying you. She checked you both in."

"Who paid for the room?"

"She did."

He looked at her, waiting for her to understand what he was asking. When she didn't, he asked, "Can I see the receipt?"

"Sorry, she paid cash."

"You didn't get her name at all?"

"I didn't say that, asshole, I just said she paid in cash," she told him. "I got a name, yours too, but as usual they were fake. She called herself Norma Jean."

"Norma Jean…as, uh, as in Marilyn Monroe?" he asked in confusion. "Was she blond?"

"No," she told him like he was an idiot for not knowing himself, "brunette, probably why she went with Marilyn's real name."

Giving a slight nod, he then asked, "Was she tall, short?"

The young woman gave him a concerned look as she said, "You really don't remember anything about her, do you?" She shook her head and mumbled under her breath about him being a 'pig' before answering, "She was tall, nicely dressed, and spoke like she was from Jersey. Very beautiful, and definitely not a hooker. Why she was with you I have no clue."

The not being a hooker part seemed to ease some of his worries, but not by much. "Had she been drinking too, could you tell?" he asked, feeling more and more agitated.

"She seemed fine to me, although a little nervous."

"Nervous, like how?"

"What're you a cop? How am I supposed to know 'like how', I don't know, she just seemed nervous. Look, she left yesterday morning around five. Someone picked her up, I don't know who. Anything else?"

He stared at her for a long moment before finally asked, "You didn't check on me, or go into the room after she left?"

"I didn't, but my boyfriend did. He said you were asleep and once he made sure you weren't dead, he left. She paid for three days."

He took that in as he asked, "Uh…what was my name?"

She picked up her cup of coffee as she said, "Well, you didn't say you were him, you just said that you felt like Jules Verne. Something about having an out of body experience, stuck in a sci-fi novel or some shit like that. Like I said, you were out of it."

Frowning, he rubbed over his face as he said with an air of frustration, "Jules Verne…the science-fiction author." He felt the confusion as to why he would give a false name, but then wondered for a second if it could have been real. Feeling that it wasn't, he turned to leave. He stopped halfway to the door and looked back at her. "You wouldn't by any chance have security cameras?"

"Why, did she steal your wallet?"

He felt like laughing, but in a way that made his stomach twist all over again. "Yeah, I think she did."

The young woman shook her head as she turned her attention back to the TV. "Sorry, but no cameras."

He sighed in disappointment as he gave a nod. Pushing the door open, he stepped back out into the cold and saw the man still out there. He was leaning against the wall smoking as he checked his watch. When the man looked over at him, he asked, "Can I bum one off you?" he asked, gesturing for a smoke.

The moment he saw the man light one up, he had a sudden ache for one. He must be a smoker. The man took out a pack and shook one out for him. He took the smoke and the offered lighter and lit it up. "Thanks, man."

The man just gave him a shrug as he took the lighter back then returned to minding his own business.

Taking a long drag off the smoke, he felt some of the tension ease as he looked around the street. He shook his head at the dingy street, the rundown buildings, the gang signs and rap lyrics spray painted over most of the faded damaged brick walls. Shivering against the cold, he looked over at the man and asked, "You work here?"

The man glanced over at him like he was out of his mind or something. Then, he said, "Yea, what's it to ya?"

"That your girlfriend," he asked as he gestured inside the office.

The man glared at him as he pushed himself off the wall and turned to him. "You got something to say 'bout my girl?"

He quickly turned to square up with the guy and involuntarily reached to his side as he held his hand up. "Whoa, hey, I didn't mean anything by it…Just making conversation."

The man had reached around to his back at the same time he reached for his side. He realized that the man was going for his gun, and maybe that was what he had reached for as well. The only problem was that the man had a real gun and he didn't. Before the man could pull it, a Chinese man on a bike rode up to the curb and stopped. "Mister Ramón?"

The man relaxed his arm as he said, "Yea," without taking his eyes of him. Then he turned away as he pulled out a wallet.

He watched the exchange of food and money as he stick the cigarette back in his mouth and stepped further away. As the man walked by him with bags of food in hand, he crumpled up the receipt and tossed it at him before opening the office door and going inside. Shaking his head at the man, and after breathing a sign of relief, he continued to smoke while he thought about what to do.

Glancing down at the crumpled up receipt, he reached down and picked it up. Opening it, he read the address. He looked at the address that was printed on the sign on the window of the motel and noticed that it and the Chinese restaurant where on the same block. He was in the Bronx.

And it was Monday, February 21th, 2005.

* * *

_One Police Plaza_

She sat anxiously in the chair at her desk as her eyes watched as the Chief of D's along with a hotshot Defense Attorney, ADA Ron Carver, and the big DA man himself, Jack McCoy, all started to speak at once, yelling over one another as her captain stood steadily by. Deakins had his arms crossed over his chest, his jaw set hard as he stared down the men gathered into his office. Even with the black eye patch he'd been required to wear since his suffered from a bout of Bell's Palsy, the man was still intimidating as hell.

Deakins took a deep breath and then said something so soft she couldn't hear from her observation point at her desk, but it seemed to break the sparring match between the other four men. They all looked to him as he continued to speak, never uncrossing his arms or relaxing his tensed jaw. After all was said and done, all four men left the office with an air of defeat and resignation.

Her eyes watched as Carver passed her desk; he briefly glanced over at her and gave her a slight, reassuring smile, but she could tell he had his doubts.

"Eames."

Alex wiped her head back to Deakins and let out a breath. Knowing all along that he'd want to talk to her next, she pushed back in her chair and got up. Once in his office and standing, her own arms crossed as her anticipation and anxiety grew, she asked, "Well?"

Deakins shook his head as he rounded her and sat on the edge of his desk. "Unless we find Nicole Wallace, and until Goren shows back up the State-"

"Meaning Jack McCoy," she bit out angrily under her breath.

"-is looking to indict him," Deakins continued to say despite her interruption. "He has the officer's statement who will testify that Bobby was the last one to go into that hospital room."

Alex sighed and closed her eyes, "He didn't do it, we all know that."

"Alex," Deakins said, cutting her off. "I know we all know that, but knowing and proving are two different things." He was quiet for a moment then asked, "Any word?"

"Not yet," she told him as she took out her cell phone and checked it again.

There had been no calls accepted or returned by Bobby. She had tried calling him Sunday morning when she awoke to an empty bed. Then she tried later in the afternoon when he still hadn't returned home, and then last night, and again this morning when she woke up.

All she kept saying to herself was that this wasn't like last time. This wasn't like before; there was no reason for Bobby's disappearance. There was no one out to get him; no one that they knew of anyway; no one except for Nicole Wallace. However, they had no reason to suspect Nicole of doing anything to Bobby. She had made her move already; she had gotten to Caleb, turned him onto Bobby, and then let him loose. After the damage was done, she had killed Caleb in a way that cast suspension onto Bobby.

Even though she didn't like it, Bobby's disappearance had nothing to do with Nicole. Bobby's disappearance had everything to do with him, and maybe even her. For all she knew, he could be avoiding her. Instead of coming home after visiting his mother Saturday night, he stayed gone. The only thing was she had no idea where he was now. He had been suspended pending the investigation into Caleb Cunningham's death, so it wasn't like he had a job to get to.

Deakins had been quiet, letting her settle herself before telling her, "There's nothing we can do."

Alex narrowed her eyes at him as she said, "Yes, there is. I can testify. I can bring into evidence the video surveillance of the nurse, who we suspect is Nicole, coming in and leaving the hospital. There's reasonable doubt."

Deakins gave a nod and smile slightly, "That's why ADA Carver wants to jump over to the defense side. He doesn't think Bobby's guilty either."

She was momentary taken back by that as she said, "Then who was that lawyer working for?"

Deakins let out a sigh and leaned his hands on the desk as he told her, "That was Leonard Starks; he's representing Paul Savoie. His trial is set for next month and he's claiming that Bobby set him up, planted evidence, and now with this recent murder of Caleb Cunningham, he's looking to tarnish Bobby's reputation as a good cop. With the way things are going, Starks just might win his case."

Alex sighed heavily and shook her head. This was ridiculous. Turning, she opened the door and left the office. Deakins didn't try to get her to stop or come back, he let her go.

* * *

_Jimmy's Bar & Grill_

He sat at a table in the back of the bar and ordered a breakfast plate, a glass of water, and coffee. As he waited, he downed the glass of water and then pulled out the money clip. He didn't know whether to be surprised or not that he was carrying around almost five hundred dollars in his pocket. He had no way of knowing if he had a credit card in the wallet he didn't have, or if he even had a wallet on him at the motel. For all he knew it wasn't stolen but just at his home, wherever that was. Or in his car, and that was only if he even owned a car.

Putting the money back into his pocket, he tried to remember something as he stared at the coffee cup in front of him. Closing his eyes, he breathed in the air, took in the sounds, and tried to remember anything. A name, a face, a touch or smell…a voice…anything.

All he got was darkness. All he felt was emptiness. And all he remembered was a vast blankness of open space. He heard someone come up to him as his eyes jerked open. The waiter sat the plate of food in front of him and refilled the cup of coffee.

"Anything else?"

"More water, uh…please," he asked as he picked up the knife and fork and started eating.

The way he saw it, there was no reason wondering around the Bronx in search of something he didn't even know existed or where, on an empty stomach. He needed to think, and while he thought he figured he could at least eat. He was starving and thirsty as hell.

The waiter refilled his glass with more water and he quickly took a gulp of it before going back to eating. He felt sick to eat, but he knew he had to. He didn't think he'd eaten or drunk anything in the past two days. He felt weak and light-headed, drained of energy and his body hurt.

As he thought about his options, he figured the two most logical things to do was to go to the police and to the hospital. It was the only thing he could think of in trying to find out why he couldn't remember anything. Once finished with the food, he tossed some money down, grabbed the jacket, and then headed toward the exit. He was craving a drink but he didn't want to seem impaired while talking to the doctors. As soon as he was outside in the cold again, he waved down a taxi.

"Where to?" the taxi driver asked once he was seated inside.

"The, uh, nearest hospital."

The driver gave him a look but he started the fare and made a u-turn, taking him in the opposite direction.

He figured he would go to the hospital, because once he told the doctors he had amnesia, they would likely call the police.

* * *

_Mike Logan's Apartment_

_Lower East Side, Manhattan_

Mike smelt the coffee brewing the moment he stepped out of the shower. With a towel wrapped around his waist, he headed down the hall and smiled at the woman standing in his kitchen making them breakfast. Sliding up behind her, he wrapped his arm around her waist and kissed over her ear. "Hum, good morning."

"Good morning to you, coffee?"

"Please, extra strong."

Denise chuckled as she took down a cup and filled it for him. "Black?"

"Of course, I don't like all the milk and sugar ruining the taste of perfectly good coffee." Taking the cup from her, he gave her a kiss and then started for the bedroom to dress. "You should add a little more bacon to that skillet, I'm gonna need the energy."

She just chuckled and shook her head at him as he continued down the hall. It didn't take him long to get dressed for the day. Taking a plaid tie off the hook on the back of the closet door, he went to wrap it around his neck when he heard a pounding at his front door.

"Want me to get that?" Denise called from the living room.

"Yeah!" he called back as he adjusted the length of the two ends of the tie on his chest and starting tying it. Once done, he slipped on his suit jacket and then picked up his badge pin and put it on the left lapel. He had once had an American Flag pin there, but had given it away to someone a long time ago. Grabbing his gun and keys, then his cell phone and wallet, he headed out of the bedroom. Clipping the gun to his belt, he asked, "Who was at the door?"

"I was."

At hearing Alex Eames's voice, Mike looked up and saw both Denise and Alex sitting at his kitchen table. Denise was looking to him for help while Alex was staring her down. "Eames?"

"Is Bobby here?"

At that question, he shook his head as he approached her, but staying close to his girlfriend. "No. I haven't seen him since Saturday."

Alex finally took her eyes off of Denise as she stared straight at him, asking, "Does he know you're sleeping with one of his ex-girlfriends?"

Mike suddenly didn't like where this was going or that tone in her voice. Clearing his own throat, he said, "No."

"Yes, he does."

He turned to Denise with a look of surprised as he said, "I didn't tell him."

"But I did, Saturday night."

"You saw Bobby?" Alex asked as she looked back at her.

Feeling conflicted between wanting to confront Denise his damn self, but also wanting to steer Alex clear of her, Mike turned as he held his hands up. "Take it easy, Alex. What's this about?"

Leaning back in the chair, and crossing her arms, Alex told him, "Bobby didn't come home Saturday night, and no one's seen or heard from him since."

"So, you figured he was here?" Mike asked in confusion as he looked down at her. "I don't know him like that, Alex. You know that."

"I know, but I was out of options." Alex then looked to Denise and asked, "Where did you see him?"

Mike turned to her and saw the look on her face.

Denise wasn't trying to start anything, and she wasn't hesitant or being untruthful as she told her, "This bar in Spanish Harlem called Stevie Ray's."

"Where we had our date?" Mike asked in suspension.

She gave a shrug as she got up out of the chair. "I have no idea why he was there or how he knew, but a bartender friend of mine called me when he saw Bobby there. He remembered that we dated once. I returned to the bar to see what was going on. My friend said he was looking real bad," she told them both as she got another cup down and filled it with coffee. "Would you like a cup, Alex?"

"Sure," she answered before asking, "How bad?"

"Depressed," she answered as she took poured another cup. "At least that was what I thought when I saw him. He had that lost look, you know," she said that while handing the cup to Alex. "The one he gets when he's in a really dark place."

Alex gave a nod as she said, "I know the one. He was drinking."

Denise gave a nod. "A lot," she told her as she sat back down.

Mike took a seat at the table while the two women talked. He didn't think that Goren would suddenly disappear like that. True, he didn't know the man well other than what he'd experienced firsthand. Goren could be very unpredictable at times, but to not call Alex to keep her from worrying didn't sound right to him at all. "He's suspended, right? Until everything settles down?"

"Yeah," Alex sternly said before taking a gulp of the coffee.

"He told me that you two were living together, but that you're moving out now."

Alex rubbed at her head as she gave a nod. "He's…difficult. Much more difficult than I expected."

Denise gave her a soft smile as she said, "He must really love you to have even tried. During the time we dated, he never let me into his apartment. We always went back to my place."

Mike looked over at her and said, "I don't want to hear you and him going anywhere, or doing anything, at all together."

Denise just gave him a look and took a sip of coffee. "You knew I dated him _before_ asking me out."

"So, you're saying I had it coming?" he asked in confusion as she just smiled again. He had to admit though, it was a beautiful smile.

"I should go," Alex said as she got up from the table. "If you hear from him-"

"You'll be the first to know, Alex," Denise said as she also stood.

"I guess that's my cue to leave as well, we do have work to do," Mike told Alex as he stood up and leaned over to give Denise another kiss before heading toward the door. He took his coat off the hanger and then followed Alex out. "Are you good to work?"

Alex didn't say anything but he saw the anger and determination in her eyes as she got behind the wheel of the department issue SUV.

Wherever Bobby was, Mike didn't envy him at all. Once Bobby returned home alive, Alex was going to kill him.

TBC…


	2. A Person of Interest

A/N: Thanks everyone for reading, and to those who chose to leave reviews! I'm always open to reviews and thoughts and ideas, so please don't hold back. I may not respond, but that doesn't mean I'm not reading every review and taking things into concideration.

Enjoy!

* * *

_Saint John's Hospital_

_Melrose, Bronx_

The emergency room buzzed with activity as he entered through the sliding doors. Doctors and nurses hurried by him, chasing after a gurney that had just arrived with a gunshot victim. Concerned parents and sobbing children were spread out over the chairs in the waiting room. Among the children and parents where an array of people, some old, others young, some looking homeless or one paycheck away from being out on the street, others like they owned the hospital. All were talking, either to each other or on cell phones, or watching a television in the corner with a cartoon playing on it for the kids.

It all helped to intensify the ringing and pressure in his own head. The ringing had stopped shortly while he was in the bar, but had come back with a vengeance while in the taxi. He'd recovered some energy but he was tensed and in pain, mostly his head, leg, and his hand.

A nurse was on the phone as he approached the desk. She glanced up at him and then returned to the caller as she motioned for another nurse, a man, to help him. The man approached and as he got closer, he could read the nameplate on his scrubs; it was Ivan. He figured that was a first name.

"Can I help you," Ivan asked as he prepared to grab a clipboard with forms attached to it.

"Yeah, I uh…I can't-…I mean, I don't know who I am," he stumbled out as he tried to reason it out. No matter how he said it, it was hard.

Ivan stilled with the clipboard in his hand for a moment and then dropped it on the counter in front of him. "Fill out these forms and have a seat."

He looked down at the clipboard and then back up at Ivan. "How am I supposed to fill this out?"

Ivan pulled out a pen and handed it out for him to take.

Staring hard at the man, he leaned on the counter as he stated a little more firmly, "I'm not-…I don't know who I am."

Ivan smirked a little before picking up the clipboard and putting the pen away. "Okay, Mr. John Doe, have a seat and someone will be with you shortly."

"How shortly?"

Ivan gave him a look as he said, "For a man claiming amnesia, I doubt you have somewhere you have to be. Have a seat."

Sighing in annoyance, he turned and looked around for a seat. When he couldn't find one, he headed to a spot on the wall where he would be out of the way. After several minutes of leaning against the wall and observing everything around him, he felt impatient so he started to pace around the open floor. Minutes later, he was down the hall in search of the cafeteria or a soda machine, or coffee machine. He found the cafeteria down a long hallway and around two right turns. He grabbed a cup of coffee and bottle of water then returned to the waiting area.

A nurse called out a name and he watched as a woman with a newborn got up, leaving the chair. He bee-lined for it and got there in time to claim the chair before anyone else could. Leaning back in the chair, he tried to relax the tensing muscles in his body as he sipped on the coffee and waited.

"Okay, Mr. John Doe, follow me."

He looked up at Ivan as he took the last drink of coffee, emptying the cup, before getting out of the chair. They went to a room down the hall where his height, weight, blood pressure, and heart rate were taken, which were all high.

"Do you smoke?" Ivan asked him as he jotted down the numbers on a form.

"I smoked this morning, but…if you're asking if I'm a smoker, I don't know."

Ivan just glanced up at him, then asked, "Drink alcohol?"

"Not today," he said.

"How about yesterday?"

Rubbing at his head, he said, "I don't remember yesterday."

Ivan gave a nod and then proceeded to leave the room. "Stay here, a doctor will be in shortly."

_Shortly_, he sarcastically thought as he closed his eyes and rubbed his neck. Shortly to Ivan meant in a few hours. Getting up, he moved around the room, opening drawers and messing with the equipment until the door opened again and a woman entered dressed in a white coat. He stilled with his hand on the thermometer as their eyes locked. Then, holding it up, he said, "I was about to take my temperature. Ivan missed that part of the examination."

"Do you feel hot?" she asked as she entered the room and shut the door.

"Not exactly."

The doctor sighed but in a good-natured way before gesturing for him to continue what he was doing. While he stuck the thermometer in his mouth, she told him, "I'm Doctor Kendal. So, you're here because you have no memory?"

He gave a nod before taking the thermometer out and checked it. "Ninety-nine point seven. Not exactly a fever, but it's a little too high. Doctor Kendal," he said as he approached her, crossing his arms as he did so, "you don't believe me, do you?"

Instead of taking any offense to that accusation, she gave him a soft smile and said, "No, I don't. Since January, we've had thirty-six people come in claiming amnesia. Do you know how many of them were actually real? None. Some were mentally ill, others just wanted to have an excuse for the hit-and-run they were involved in. Others wanted the attention."

"I get that, okay. I know that this isn't…It's not very common. In fact, what I'm experiencing is extremely rare-"

"And what are you experiencing?" she asked in confusion.

"This type of retrograde amnesia, okay, where all of my life's memories are, are…nonexistent. I have no sense of identity. And…" he sighed in frustration as he looked around the room. "And I have no idea why or how it happened."

"Okay," she said as she pointed to the chair. "Cognitive thinking isn't impaired, just your memory. Why don't you have a seat and we'll see what we can find out."

He felt like he was being pulled around by strings but he did as the doctor asked and sat down.

Dr. Kendal pulled up another chair and sat across from him and asked, "Let's start at the beginning. What do you remember?"

Rubbing at his head, he said, "This morning. I uh, I woke up on the floor."

"At your home?"

"No, it…It was a motel room." He leaned back in the chair as he stared at the ceiling, getting his thoughts in order among the pressure and ringing in his head. "Since I was on the floor, I could've fallen out of the bed. I remember…my jaw hurt and I had the taste of blood in my mouth. I was also dehydrated. The, uh, the person at the desk I talked to said I'd been there for two days. I don't remember those two days or anything about my life before this morning." He swallowed around the sudden dryness of his throat and reached for the water bottle he'd brought into the room with him. After taking a sip, he said, "I thought that I'd been drinking, I felt hung-over…but, I didn't have the taste of alcohol in my mouth. I didn't smell it on my breath either."

The doctor wrote something down on a clipboard and then asked, "Anything else you remember or would like to add?"

Sighing, he said, "A ringing…in my head. And, a, uh, a pressure."

"Is it constant?"

"The pressure is, but the ringing comes and goes."

"Anything else?" she asked after writing that down.

He shook his head as he continued to look up at the ceiling.

"Okay. This is what I'm going to do. I'm going to order blood tests. You could have injected something or were given a drug that could have caused this. I'm also going to order a x-ray, MRI and CT-scan, make sure you didn't receive a concussion from the fall. And I'm going to inform the police. They can get your statement, take your prints, and check missing persons." She looked at him for a response and when she didn't get one, Kendal smiled a little and got up.

"What's that for?" he couldn't help but wonder as she went to leave the room.

"What?" she asked.

He gestured as he said, "The smile."

Hesitating for a moment, she answered, "Whenever I accuse someone claiming amnesia of possibly doing drugs or being given drugs, with the added information of calling the cops, they flip out and start raving about never doing anything like that."

He smiled back as he shook his head, "Thus, giving themselves away to be liars."

"Exactly. I'll send Ivan in to get blood samples."

After the doctor was gone and he was alone in the room, he leaned back in the chair and closed his eyes thinking that it was going to be a long day.

* * *

_Major Case Squad_

_There's nothing we can do._ Deakins words echoed in her head as she stared down at the file in front of her. The Caleb Cunningham case wasn't officially closed, but with his death they could start closing out the files on his crime spree. Most notably, the murder of his mother. SVU was handling the closing of the Patterson case; however, the aftermath of the chaos created by Caleb wasn't over and, she suspected, it wouldn't be for quite a long time.

What couldn't be closed was the murder of ADA Gardner. As far as the DA was concerned, it was still open and currently being handled by herself and Logan. Despite the mounted pressure in finding his killer, and believing more and more that it was done by Nicole, or Caleb, or the both of them together, it was fading fast. With Caleb's death, they were at a standstill in their investigation. Sure, the CSIs were going over Gardner's house with a fine-tooth comb and all the equipment and chemicals they could muster, but so far they've found nothing.

And now, through the midst of all the dust that had gathered, Bobby was AWOL. He'd jumped ship and cut off all communication. She was worried yes, but she was also furious. He'd left her high and dry without a word...She could just...

"Eames, you might want to relax that hand before-"

The pencil she'd been holding snapped as she glanced up at Logan. Dropping the two pieces to the desk, she pushed her chair back with a force and headed to the break room; she needed to calm down.

Taking out her cell, she called Bobby's number. With it going straight to voicemail again, she cursed and hung up. Movement caught her eyes out in the squad room and she turned to see Deakins walking by her desk. He gave it a quick two-tap before heading for his office. That was one of his signals to them that he wanted them in his office, now. And whatever he had to say, it wasn't going to be pleasant.

Logan got up to follow as she left the break room, also to follow. Once inside the office, she shut the door because Deakins was too busy taking off his overcoat. He'd been gone for most of the morning, having left right after her.

Deakins reached up and did something he hadn't done in years, he undid his tie and pulled it off before rolling up his sleeves. The man looked worn down and beat; it made her tense up and cross her arms as she looked over at Logan. He was also on edge as he tensed his jaw and stayed standing, waiting for the shoe to drop.

Sitting down at his desk, Deakins glanced up at them and said, "They found Goren's car."

Her back tensed as she eyed her Captain. That wasn't what she'd been expecting. They found Bobby's car? So, where was Bobby? Before she could open her mouth to ask that question, Deakins continued.

"It was left abandoned in a parking lot off the Cross Bronx Expressway, in Highbridge."

"Highbridge? How in the hell was the car recovered in one piece?" Logan asked in disbelief. "It should've been stripped all the way down to the undercarriage and scattered all over the five boroughs by now."

"The alarm was blaring when they arrived on scene," Deakins told him. "My guess is that no one thought the owner wasn't coming back for it until today and when they went to jack it, the alarm sounded which alerted the unit passing by."

"Is the 44th handling it?" she finally asked as she found her voice.

"As of now they are. If anything is found indicating foul play, the Chief will hand it over to us." Deakins let out a breath then looked directly at her. "Any reason why Goren would be in that area of the Bronx?"

Alex set her jaw as she thought about it. She thought of the route Bobby would take when coming back from visiting his mom upstate. "The last I talked to him, he was visiting his mom. He would have taken Interstate 684 the whole way there from 95. Coming back is a different story depending on how he felt after the visit and where he wanted to drive to. He would sometimes take the long way, going into Manhattan. He could've been trying to cut through the Bronx, taking Expressway to go to Queens. One of his friends lives in Long Island City," she said with a shrug.

It was hard to tell with Bobby, she thought, the man was so unpredictable at times; especially when he was in such a dark place.

"For all I know, Captain, he was just driving without a thought in his head as to where he was going," Alex finished after giving it some thought. That was Bobby. One of the things he did to think or to get away from something, was to get into his car and just go.

"He do that a lot?" Logan asked.

Alex glanced up at him and gave a curt nod. More than she would like. He would rather do that than to sit down and talk it out with her.

Deakins stayed leaning on his desk as he let her talk. He wasn't telling her everything, she knew. So she waited him out. The other shoe was about to drop; she could feel it. Taking a breath, he said, "Because of this latest development, Goren is considered a person of interest to the NYPD concerning the murder of Caleb Cunningham. A statewide APB has been issued."

"You can't be serious," she suddenly snapped in anger and disbelief.

Her Captain could barely look at her as he continued, "We don't have a choice in this matter, Eames. He's missing. I just came from a meeting with the brass and DA Jack McCoy. They're making it public; a press conference has been scheduled. It'll air on this evenings news. I argued for us to be involved, all the Chief could offer was that you would be the detective called if someone spots Goren. I don't want some cop who doesn't know him to try and bring him in if-"

Before he could finish, she opened the door and left the office.

"Eames!" Logan called after her as she went to her desk and grabbed up her belongings. "Eames."

"I can't stay here and listen to this, Logan."

"You think it's easy for me to hear?" he replied back as he reached to stop her.

She pulled back and stood her ground as she told him, "I don't know, Logan, is it? You're the only who's all the time saying how you and Bobby were just partners and nothing more."

Logan backed down and watched as she grabbed her coat to leave. "Just because we're not friends doesn't mean I don't care. This is bullshit, okay. We all know it, so why are you running away?"

"I'm not!" she said as she pulled on her coat.

"Then where are you going?"

Alex grabbed the keys off her desk as she told him, "Where'd you think? The 44th." As she started down the hall, she heard Logan behind her.

"Hey, wait up!"

Logan met her at the elevator as he was still struggling to pull on his overcoat. "This isn't too smart, Eames."

"Well, Logan, sometimes in this job you've got to take some risks."

"Oh, yeah, says who?"

"For one, Bobby," she told him as stepped into the elevator with him getting on right behind her.

"Yeah, I've been down that slippery slope with him before," Logan told her as the doors closed.

"And?"

Logan glanced over at her as he said, "And it got me here. Risks, I'm willing to take, just as long as I don't end up back on Staten Island."

* * *

_Saint John's Hospital_

In-between being scanned, x-rayed, having his DNA and fingerprints taken and four tubes of blood drained from his body, he had to endure two police officers who obviously either didn't believe him or didn't want to be there as they took his statement. One of the officers, McNeil, didn't say a word unless it was some smartass comment to his relaying of events. Halfway through the interview, he wanted to knock the cop's teeth out.

"So, let me get this straight. You wake up naked in a motel room with no ID and no memory of your entire life, and the first thing you do is get dressed, leave the motel, and go get breakfast?"

The way Officer Ellis asked that, like he was having a hard time believing it, made his jaw twitch. Taking a breath, he eyed the officer as he told him, yet again, "Yes."

"How come you didn't call the police when you first awoke?"

Giving a shrug, he said, "I knew if I came here to get checked out, they would call you for me. Besides, I don't have a phone."

"You could'a used the one at the motel. The Royal, is that right?"

Rubbing his head, and feeling the growing pressure, he gave a nod. "Yes, officer, the Royal," then without thinking about it, he said, "Has anybody told you that you're obtuse?"

Officer Ellis stared at him and then said, "I'm what?"

"Obtuse. It means slow to understand…"

"Hey, pal," McNeil said as he stepped up to him; prepared to defend his partner and probably to also keep his partner from doing something rash. "You better watch it-"

"Or what? Are you going to arrest me for having an opinion? Look, I don't care if you believe me or not as long as you get my statement and find out who I am." He looked back at Officer Ellis as he asked, "Are we done?"

"Yea, we're done. C'mon, let's get outta here."

Officer McNeil followed his partner out but he could still hear what was said as they started down the hall.

"Guy's probably lying anyway. He got his rocks off with some hooker and now he claiming this amnesia bullshit because she took him for his money….probably married too."

Their voices started to fade the further they got away but he felt his anger grip him hard as he realized that no one was believing him. He had to admit though, he had a hard time believing his own damn self. Amnesia wasn't a common occurrence, and he could image how many people who had done bad things in their lives trying to use it as an excuse to get away with it.

However, for him it wasn't an excuse. It was real.

He had no idea who he was. He had no memory of his life, no identity to cling to, or no beliefs or morals to govern himself by. He was just there. A man, a body, a mind, but with no history. No foundation to build upon. No walls to entrap himself. Nothing but the wonder and the fears and the anger and pain of not knowing.

What if he never regained his memory? What if he never found out who he was?

Getting up out of the chair he'd been sitting in, he left the private room the doctor had assigned him to and started down the hallway. He couldn't continue to stay sitting. He needed to move and to think and to remember. It was all so frustrating because he didn't know what to do.

What he did know was that the sense of smell was a great way to recover lost memory. How he knew that, he had no idea, but it seemed that his mind was filled with vast knowledge that was just there, ready to be explored.

Seeing, smelling, tasting, touching, all of his senses worked in helping to create memory and so far, nothing was helping. A hospital smelt like a hospital. Very sterile, very bland, yet very familiar. A hospital was unforgettable, he thought; once you've been in one, you never forgot it. Hospitals felt very common to him for some reason; it wasn't foreign or unique. It was almost so familiar that there was no distinction. No one absolute thing that stood out to spark a distinct memory.

Maybe that was the secret to recovering a memory; it wasn't to look for the familiar, but to look for that one unique thing, or smell, or taste that stood out from all the things that blended into one.

As he rounded a corner, hands stuffed in the pockets of the jeans he wore, he heard a woman talking. A newscaster informing the public of a man wanted for questioning by the police. Taking a glance up toward the woman speaking, he took a look at the television screen and froze.

All the air rushed out of his body at the image displayed on the screen. It was a photograph of a man in a suit and tie. A man who looked like him but who once had a life and a identity but now had nothing. Not even a name until that very moment.

_Robert Goren._ That was his name. He was Robert Goren. His relief was very short-lived as he read the number on the bottom of the screen. It was for the police hotline, and it was to be called if anyone had seen him. He felt the instant panic flare up in his chest. He was wanted by the police.

A nurse turned and grabbed a phone without taking her eyes off the television screen. He saw her, but she didn't see him. Taking a step back, he took one last look at the screen, at the two names, one his own and the other the detective to ask for, and then turned around and continued walking.

He didn't stop until he was away from the hospital and seated on a subway headed toward Manhattan. There was no reason as to why he felt he had to get out of the hospital, but he couldn't ignore the feeling in his gut that this was all wrong. He couldn't ignore the thoughts in his head either. The ones telling him that he had to figure this out on his own, and that he couldn't let himself be taken in by the police. He felt the impulses to search, to figure out the puzzle, and he was reluctant to let himself be restrained in doing so.

He didn't want to be helpless, especially since he didn't know if he could even trust the police. For all he knew, the police had him. For all he knew, he had done something so wrong and bad and horrible that he would be spending the rest of his life in prison.

Even though he had no memory of what happened, of what he did, he wasn't about to give himself up. That was the only thing that he could think of and that felt right for him to do. With no memory, his instincts were his only guide in this unknown life of his, and so far they hadn't let him down. His instinct told him to get to Manhattan, to call the number, and to talk to this Detective Eames.

And that was what he was planning on doing.

TBC…


	3. Bobby Not Robert

A/N: Okay, with my last couple of stories, I've written very long chapters and it took me awhile, sometimes more than 2 weeks to update. I was asked by a few readers to shorten the chapters a little, so that's what I decided to do with this story. Chapters 1 and 2 were actually at one point together, making one long chapter. Now, I'm being asked for longer chapters. So…I don't know what to do. I'm trying to please everyone, but that sometimes isn't possible.

Anyway, I think as long as I keep posting, I'm pleasing the readers. I'm trying to post more than 1 chapter per week, but it all depends on my work schedule. Please be patient, the story will come. Thank you all!

Enjoy!

* * *

_The 44__th__ Precinct_

_Highbridge, Bronx_

Alex took in the neighborhood as she headed toward the front doors to the police department. The neighborhood was one of the many under the poverty level; graffiti decorated every surface of the walls that was within reach, even in spots it couldn't. She always wondered how people were able to spray paint in spots so far off the ground. But the graffiti was everywhere in the city and boroughs, not just there.

However, what she was trying to imagine was Bobby taking a pit-stop in that neighborhood. There hadn't been any reason for it. Opening the door, she held it for Logan who came in right behind her.

The station wasn't too busy as she approached the watch sergeant on duty as she held up her shield. "I'm Detective Eames with Major Case. I understand your guys brought in a car this morning belonging to Detective Robert Goren."

The watch sergeant, Sergeant Rakoski, took a quick glance at her shield and then at her before picking up the phone, telling her, "It's in the garage. CSU is going over it now. I'll tell them you're coming."

Alex looked over at Logan as she pocketed her shield, giving him a look at how easy that was. She was expecting some sort of protest or demand to know if she was even on the case. "Where's-" she went to ask when a uniform came up to them.

"Follow me, I'll take you there. It's around back," the officer told them as he lead them through the precinct and then out the back doors.

Alex saw the police garage across the parking lot along with several CSU vans. As they started the walk toward the garage, she asked the officer, "Where was the car found?"

"In a vacant parking lot off the Expressway."

"Was there a gas station near by or a store of some kind?"

The office shook his head as he told her, "No gas station for a few blocks, and in the other direction. The parking lot used to belong to a strip club before it was condemned. It's been vacant and boarded up for about…eight months now." He stepped up to the door and pulled it open for them.

"Thanks," she told him as she entered the garage and immediately spotted Bobby's '67 Ford Mustang convertible. The CSU's were nearly tearing it apart. Bobby was going to be pissed if they didn't put it back together right.

"We heard he was missing," the officer said, "Any word?"

Alex shook her head as she watched as a CSI opened the backdoor and started a search. It didn't take long before she heard him call out.

"We got a syringe," the CSI announced as he pulled up his camera and took a picture. Another CSI came up behind him and collected the piece of evidence.

Alex went up to her and asked to see the bag with the syringe. Taking it in her hands, she inspected it as she turned to Logan. "It's not a junkie's needle."

"And you know this how?"

"While working in Vice I met a lot of junkies. The needle is too thin."

"You think it belonged to whoever took Goren?" Logan quietly asked as he took the bag from her.

"Nicole Wallace is known for using needles. Poison is her forte." Alex sighed heavily as she shook her head. "It's her. She has him." Feeling her cell vibrate in her pocket, she took it out as she checked the caller ID. It was central dispatch. "Eames."

"Yes, Detective, we just received a call from a nurse at the Saint John's Hospital in the Bronx. She says that Detective Goren is there now. He's a patient."

"Okay, thank you. I'll be right there," she said into the phone before flipping it shout. Turning to Mike, she said, "Bobby's been found. He's at Saint John's Hospital."

"That's only a few blocks away. Let's go," Mike said as they quickly left the garage and headed for the SUV.

* * *

_Saint John's Hospital_

Walking through the doors of the hospital, Detective Odafin 'Fin' Tutuola sought out the police officers who'd called him while his partner Detective John Munch headed toward the nurse's desk. He found the two cops, McNeil and Ellis, hanging outside the cafeteria with big cups of soda in their hands. Stepping up to the officers, he asked, "You called Special Victims?"

Officer Ellis took a look at him and said, "Yea, but it's too late now, the guy split."

"Okay, but why did you call us to begin with?" Fin asked as he took out his notepad and pen, ready to copy everything down.

Ellis took a sip of the soda before telling him the whole story, "A guy comes in here, claiming to not remember who he was or what had happened to him. The docs do their thing and call us in to get his statement. I noticed marks on his wrists and he had a cut on the right side of his lip. Get this, he says he woke up naked in a motel room with no wallet or ID and no memory of his entire life. Then, instead of calling the police first, he gets dressed and goes out for breakfast."

"And that's why you didn't believe him, because of his actions afterwards?" Fin asked as he jotted everything down. He had to admit, he would have believed the guy either. The story was sketchy at best.

"Right, who does that?"

"Did he shower?"

Ellis shook his head, telling him, "He said he didn't want to ruin evidence. The only honest thing that came out of his mouth. We got his prints and swabbed him for DNA, we were waiting on you guys and the CSU to get here." The cop handed over the prints and the mouth swab to him.

He took the evidence and pocketed them. "So," Fin said after thinking about the guy and the story he told, "you think the guy picked up a woman, possibly a hooker, went back to the motel and had some rough sex. Or he something else went on and they got into it, and that she took his wallet."

"And then in the morning after realizing what he'd done, thought up this amnesia bullshit so not to get in trouble with us or his wife, or both."

"Was he married?" Fin asked as he heard Munch coming down the hall.

McNeil spoke up as he told him, "We didn't see a ring or a tan line on his finger. But his right hand had a bandage on it from a previous injury."

Fin wrote that down as Munch stepped up to the side of him.

Leaning into him, Munch spoke softly into his ear as he said, "It was Detective Goren."

Fin jerked his head back as he looked at Munch. "What'd you mean it was Goren?"

Munch looked at the two cops and then back at him, saying again, "I mean it was Goren. The nurse thought I was here to get her statement because she had called the hotline in response to the media story on Detective Goren being a person of interest. He was here. He's the man with no memory."

"You're kidding," Fin said in disbelief as he looked at the notepad in his hand as his mind thought about everything the cops had told him. "Then, he wasn't lying. Bobby's had something happen to him and now he's out there running around the boroughs with no idea what's going on or who he is."

"Hold up," McNeil said as he'd been listening to the two of them. "You're telling me this guy's a cop?"

Fin gestured for them all to follow him as he lead them back down the hall to the nurse's desk. Approaching the desk, he saw the television on and asked the nurse, "Could you put it on the news." He watched as the nurse changed the channels and the news came on. The weather was currently being shown but after a few minutes, a repeat coverage of Bobby being wanted for questioning came back on. "Was that the guy?" he asked, pointing to the picture on the screen.

"Yeah, that's him," McNeil told him as he looked to his partner.

Fin pulled out his cell phone, ready to call his Captain when he heard a familiar voice call out his name.

"Fin, Munch, what're you doing here?"

They turned to see Eames coming up to them with another man in tow. Fin looked the man up and down and realized that he was her partner. "Probably for the same reason as you."

She stopped in front of him and said simply, "Bobby."

Giving a nod, he said, "Yeah." Looking over at her partner, he held out his hand. "Detective Tutuola, SVU, and this is Detective Munch."

"Detective Logan," he said before smiling over at Munch. "And I've heard about you from one of my old homicide partners."

Munch gave Logan a handshake before asking, "And who was that?"

"Lennie Briscoe."

Munch's smile dropped as he said, "Briscoe? I met him in Baltimore. That bastard slept with my ex-wife."

Logan started laughing as he told him, "Yeah, sorry. I forgot about that part of the story. It's been a while since he told me of his time with the Baltimore PD." Looking over at the two uniforms still standing there, he asked, "So, what's going on with Detective Goren?"

Fin answered instead, filling both Logan and Eames in on what they knew. As they all started to think about what to do next and who to call, Eames cell phone started going off.

"Probably another possible sighting," she told them as she flipped the phone open. "This is Detective Eames, who's calling?"

Fin watched as she wrinkled her head in confusion before saying 'hello?' Then, she nearly dropped the phone as her whole body went on high alert.

"Bobby?"

* * *

_14__th__ Street & Union Square_

_14__th__ Street, Manhattan_

As soon as he stepped off the subway, he had a plan formed in his head. The first thing he needed was a cell phone so he sought out a prepaid cell phone booth and found one along the terminal. He also spotted a booth selling New York souvenirs, one item being a Yankees baseball cap. After buying the phone, he bought the cap and slipped it on as he headed up to the street and out into the Flatiron District of the city.

Crossing the busy intersections, he headed to a busy coffee shop on the corner and picked up a cup of coffee and something to eat before crossing over to Union Square Park. Even though it was late February, the ever present Greenmarket Farmer's Market was in full swing.

He realized that he knew a lot about the city and where things were even though he had no memory of his own life. It was weird to know how the subways worked, which trains to take, where in the city buildings and restaurants were, but to have no idea where he himself lived. To not know if he was in a relationship, if he had a mother or father, or siblings. Yet, he knew that the Farmer's Market in Union Square Park was every Monday, Wednesday, Friday and Saturday from 8 am to 6 pm all year long.

As he blended in with the customers with bags of produce and food, he headed deeper into the park. A newsstand was coming up on his left so he stopped and grabbed a copy of each paper-the _New Yorker_, the _Daily News _and the _Ledger_-before walking over to a bench and taking a seat. Pulling out the recently bought cell phone, he got it out and put the SIM card in and battery. Hoping it didn't need to be charged, he turned it on and while waiting for it to startup, he flipped open the first morning paper as he drank his coffee and ate his food.

Through his search of the news, he couldn't find a single article about him or why he was wanted for questioning by the police. Whatever had happened, either the cops are keeping it under the media radar, or, this was breaking news. It wouldn't be in today's paper, but in tomorrows'. However, despite not finding anything useful about himself, it was good to read the news and to get a better grasp of what was going on.

He found himself drawn to the crime articles, reading about different investigations or trial hearings happening around the city. He was also interested in the Arts section, checking the sports stats of college basketball and the early prospects of the Yankees before spring training started.

He sat on the bench and read all three papers from front to back before getting up to buy another cup of coffee from a vendor. Taking out the cell phone, he realized he was hesitating to make the call. He wasted a lot of time and he was still reluctant but he knew he had to do it. Taking a breath, he walked back over to the bench and sat down as he dialed the number he'd memorized after only a quick glance.

That was another thing he was surprised about; he had an exceptional memory. Yet when he needed it most, like to know who he was, it was failing him.

The line on the other end was ringing as he sat on the bench, his left leg bouncing uncontrollably under his elbow as he stared at the remains of snow on the ground. There wasn't much snow left, having all melted away with the rising temperature.

"This is Detective Eames, who's calling?"

He heard the woman's voice and had to do a double take. He went to speak when he realized he hadn't given much thought as to what he was going to say.

"Hello?"

Clearing his throat, he simply said, "Yeah, this is Robert Goren…you're looking for me."

The detective was quiet for a moment, sounding startled, she asked, "Bobby?"

_Bobby. Not Robert._ Why would the detective call him something so…informal? Hesitating for a moment as he tried to process that, he asked, "You-you, uh, you know me? You know who I am?"

She was quiet again and he could hear her saying something to another person before answering, "Yes, I do. I know that you're also suffering from amnesia."

He gave a nod into the phone as he looked around at the people passing by him on their way through the park. "The police I talked to this morning didn't believe me."

"I believe you."

"How? I mean, why would you if you you're trying to bring me in? I don't even know what I did-"

"You didn't do anything," she strictly told him before saying, "Listen, Bobby, the reason I know you is because you're also a cop. You're a detective, and you were once my partner."

He was a detective? Then why was he being wanted? He had so many questions but he also wanted answers. Instead of asking anything, he told her, "I want to meet, but with you. Alone."

"Done. Where?" she asked without hesitation.

"Union Square Park. At the George Washington statue. When you get here, call this number back," he said before hanging up.

Rubbing at his head, he took a breath and got up as he headed toward the statue. He walked around the statue, taking in everyone around the park but most notably the police. The statue was at the front entrance to the park, along 14th street. There were many places to walk to from there. He had Union Square West off to the West, Union Square East to the East, the park and 17th street to the North. There were a lot of people coming and going through the park, going to the Farmer's Market or cutting through. Taxies were constantly going up and down the streets, and there was the subway station.

Checking his watch, he headed toward Union Square West and found a spot on a crowded and cold bench and waited.

Nearly twenty minutes later he noticed a patrol car slowing to a stop across the street. It parked but didn't stop running. The cops in it were watching the park. He took that in as he felt the cell phone vibrate. Looking around, he watched people, coming into and exiting the park.

Getting up off the bench, he headed further into the park as he answered the phone. "What took you so long?"

"I was in the Bronx."

"Were you at the motel?"

She was quiet for a second before saying, "No, the hospital."

"So, tell me, detective, why am I being wanted by the police if I am the police?"

She became silent again and he could hear her frustration as she told him, "It's a long story, but we all know you're innocent. The media story was a tactic by the DA's office to get you to come in because you've been missing since Saturday night. Bobby, do you understand what I'm saying?"

He leaned against a tree and peered through the opening between the trees and bare limbs. There weren't too many people around the statue. The women he saw were the same women sitting on the benches from when he was there walking around. The only woman he saw, who was talking on a cell phone, and looking like a cop was a short blond, about 5 foot 4, with a stern face, and she was searching around the statue, around the benches. She was trying to find him.

"I lost my memory, not my ability to think, detective,"

"It's Eames," she said in a soft, yet sad voice. "Or Alex."

He took in her tone and the sadness in her voice as he realized why she was being so informal and blunt with him. He also saw her face when she'd said that. It hurt; she was disappointed. "We, uh…We're friends, aren't we?"

"Yes…" she said, but was hesitant in saying anything more. He found that he was also could read body language. Since he was a cop, he figured he was very good at it. So he saw the way her shoulders dropped, the way she seemed uncertain and also afraid as she realized she couldn't find him anywhere. "You can trust me, Bobby. You've got to tell me where you are. You have to let me bring you in."

"How do I know that I can trust you?"

"Because…" she hesitated again before telling him, "because we're not _just_ friends, Bobby, we're in a relationship. Because we love each other."

They were together? And they loved each other? Okay, if that were true then why was he in a motel room with another woman? Was it by his own choice or was it something else? He was cop, so maybe he was meeting a contact. But, the woman said he was drunk, that he was hardly able to walk.

He dropped the phone away from his mouth as he continued to watch her. There seemed to be no dishonesty in her expression. However, he couldn't be for certain.

What in the hell was going on? And now this detective was telling him that they were in love with each other and that he could trust her. He didn't know what to think, or what to believe. He needed proof.

"I understand that this is real. I know you're not lying about not remembering, but you have to come in now, Bobby. This isn't looking good for you."

He looked off to the right and saw another man he hadn't been paying attention to before. He was tall with short cropped dark hair, a suit under his overcoat and a plaid tie. On his belt he spotted the bulge from a gun, and he saw the glint of the police shield.

"The DA thinks you're on the run and that this amnesia thing is just a way of establishing a defense," she continued to tell him as the other detective started to head his way. When he didn't answer for a long moment, she asked, "Bobby? Bobby, are you there?"

"I'll think about it," he told her right before hanging up. He stepped away from the tree and turned away from her as he headed up the path and toward the street. Glancing back, he stuffed his hands into his pockets as he saw the other detective turning around as Detective Alex Eames came up behind him.

They both started talking to each other before splitting up. Eames heading toward Union Square East while the man continued his way. Instead of continuing toward the street, he turned right on the path and cut back through the park, heading east. He wanted to keep his eyes on Detective Eames.

They searched around the park for him for a few minutes until they realized that he didn't want to be found. He kept a good distance away as he followed them back to a black SUV. Going up to the curb, he quickly waved down a taxi and got in it as the SUV pulled away from the curb.

He had the taxi driver follow it all the way to One Police Plaza.

TBC…


	4. Home

A/N: Thank you to everyone for the reviews! Keep them coming!

* * *

_6__th__ Avenue Hotel_

_Prospect Heights, Brooklyn_

The hotel he chose to stay at was out of an six-story brownstone. It was rundown, not yet under new management and restored, and the owner didn't care too much about who stayed there, as long as the bill was paid on time. He didn't even have to show identification as he paid cash for the night. It was a six story walk-up but he didn't mind as he headed up to the last room on the sixth floor. He had no baggage, only the three shopping bags in his right hand from various stores along the way.

After he had followed the detectives to their department, he didn't stay long. He found which precinct they worked out of and that was enough for now. He needed to get himself cleaned up and to think of a plan of action. It was hard to figure out what was the right decision since he still didn't understand everything that had happened and that was happening now. Detective Eames didn't give him much information; she didn't tell him why he was wanted for questioning. And with no answers to give, he figured it was pointless to turn himself in anyway.

Dropping the bags on the bed, he took the smaller of the three into the bathroom with him. He took his time showering, enjoying the feel of the hot spray on his body as he felt free to relax. Once done, he changed into the clothes he'd bought. He didn't buy much, only three pairs of clothes, sweatpants, and two packages of t-shirts, one of black shirts and the other white. He dressed in the jeans, a t-shirt, and a black button-down dress shirt before grabbing the jacket and ball cap and slipping them both on as he opened the door.

He left the hotel using the stairwell that was at the end of the hallway and exited out into the dark alley in-between the buildings. Out on the sidewalk he could see the setting sun peeking out between the row houses that lined the streets of Prospect Heights. A couple of blocks over was the Brooklyn Public Library's Central Library on Grand Army Plaza.

He didn't get more than five steps into the library when he spotted a woman at the information desk looking his way. She smiled and waved him over. He felt his chest clench as he went to turn around and head back out.

"Detective Goren," the woman said, coming around the desk.

Looking back at her, he took a moment to really look at her and realized that she wasn't a threat. Smiling slightly back, he said simply, "Hi."

The woman stopped in front of him and extended her hand. He shook it as he read her nametag. Melanie. She was tall for a woman, and too beautiful to be a librarian. She was also too young. He would guess her age to be late twenties to early thirties.

"Long time stranger," Melanie said as she smiled brighter at him. "I haven't seen you in at least…" she thought about it and gasped slightly, "Two years, not since you moved. How's Greenpoint?"

He cocked his head a little as he gave a shrugged. "It's nice."

She gave a smile and asked, "So, what brings you back?"

Another shrug and he told her, "I was in the neighborhood."

"Well, it's nice to see you again. And if you need any help, let me know."

"Thanks, I uh…I will."

Melanie gave him a friendly pat on the shoulder and then walked away, back to the information desk. As he walked toward the aisles, he smiled slightly. This hadn't been such a bad idea after all. In the matter of a few seconds he found out a few things. One, he was a regular at libraries, and two, he lived in Greenpoint, having moved there roughly two years ago from that neighborhood.

He sat down at a computer and was relieved to find that he could use it without having to have a library card. He immediately brought up the internet and did what anybody would do trying to find themselves, he did a Google search of his own name. He also clicked on the library website and started a search through the electronic periodicals and newspapers. That was when he finally hit a brick wall.

He couldn't search the database unless the provided a barcode number. _Shit._ Checking on the Google search, he saw over 4 million results of the name Robert Goren. Revising the search, he added NYPD and hit search again. That gave him half a million results.

Skimming over the first page, he clicked on a newspaper article from the _New York Ledger_. It was an article published three years ago about a suicide of a man named Dan Croydon, the note he'd written had been addressed to the detective on the case. It was to him, and it said that he was the one to blame.

Sitting back in the chair, he reread the headline and stared at the picture on the front page.

"Are you okay, detective?"

He nearly jumped at the woman's voice beside him as he turned and looked at Melanie. She approached him with a worried look on her face.

"Yeah, uh…" he turned back to the computer screen and quickly clicked on the library website, covering up the newspaper article. "I, uh…I was going to um, to do a search and I realized I had forgotten my uh…my library card."

Melanie looked at the computer screen and the smile returned as she said, "That, I can help you with." She pulled out a card and leaned forward so she could use the keyboard.

He watched as she typed in a barcode number and pin before hitting enter. "You didn't have to do that."

"I know, and I don't just do that for anyone," she said with a teasing smile and wink. "Need anything else?"

He shook his head as she continued around the chair and down the aisle. She must have known he was going to watch her walk away from the way she was moving. He wondered if they were friends, or if they'd ever been anything more. The way she was smiling and teasing him, he figure that they either had been or that she wanted them to be.

It was flattering seeing how he would put his own age at somewhere around forty. Turning back to the computer, he tried to focus on the task at hand as he continued to search the articles and journals and anything he could think of in trying to find out more about himself. Apparently he was a popular guy with the media. There were numerous newspaper articles dating back to the early 90's from when he was just a patrol cop. He also found profiling journals that mentioned his name several times, along with another mans' name quite frequently. For what he could gather reading between the lines, he worked with an Forensic Psychologist for the FBI, Declan Gage, for a good portion of the late eighties and well into the 90's. What also surprised him was that they were military journals. He had been in the military.

He also searched Greenpoint residents with him name in the hopes of getting an address. However, after thirty minutes of searching, he realized his address was unlisted and not available, which was smart seeing how he was a cop. He wouldn't want a psychopathic killer he'd put away finding out where he lived. Then, he thought of something. A way to get his address.

Getting up, he closed out the account and went in search of Melanie. He found her helping a young girl get a book from the top shelf. He stood off to the side and watched her talking enthusiastically to the girl about the book. The moment the girl walked away, he started for her.

Melanie turned and spotted him coming toward her and she smiled slightly. "You look like a man on a mission. Very serious."

He stopped in front of her as he stuffed his left hand in his pocket, involuntarily rubbing at his neck with his right, he said, "I am. I uh, I actually need your help again."

"I'm at your service. What'd you need?"

"A replacement library card. I was thinking about it and I realized I hadn't just forgotten it. I uh, I think I lost it actually."

She laughed a little and shook her head. "Come up to the desk and I'll see what I can do."

As they started walking toward the front of the building, he asked, "Is there a way that one can be sent to me?"

"That can be arranged," she told him as they got to the desks. Melanie went behind one and started typing on the computer. "It's Robert, right?"

"Yeah," he said as he leaned on the desk and watched her, "and can I verify my address first?"

"Sure, and apparently you're the one and only Robert Goren in the system. It says your address is 210 Mather Street, Greenpoint, Brooklyn, area code 11222. Is that correct?"

"You said 210 _Mather_ Street? That's it."

"Okay, a replacement card will be mailed. All you have to do is pay the fee."

"How much?"

Melanie looked at him and said, "It's only two bucks."

He pulled out two dollars and handed it to her. "Thank you."

She took the money, saying, "Not a problem, detective." Melanie then looked slightly embarrassed as she told him, "If you're not busy, I get off in a few minutes."

He felt his own embarrassment as he saw the expectant look in her eyes. He did feel drawn to her, but Detective Eames voice echoed in his head. For all he knew, Eames could have been lying to him since she knew he had no memory and wanted him to trust her. However, he couldn't be for certain. If they were together, and they did love each other, than he didn't want to ruin that.

Smiling slightly he told her, "I'm sorry, Melanie, but I am busy and I'm with someone."

"I should've asked that first. I'm the one who's sorry, I don't mean to-"

"It's okay," he told her. "If I wasn't, absolutely. Again, thank you, and have a good night, all right?"

"Okay. Have a good night too, Detective."

He gave her one last look over his shoulder before leaving the library. Even though he had to turn her down, it was nice to know that he had a friend. He wouldn't forget that.

* * *

_Special Victim's Unit_

_16__th__ Precinct, Manhattan_

"There I was in my old bar back in Baltimore, trying to be a good host to this New York detective, and do you know what he does? He not only beats me in pool, in my own bar, but then he proceeds to tell me that he slept with my ex-wife. With Gwen! My one true love."

Fin stared over at Munch and then, having enough, said, "Enough, Munch. I've heard this story already. It's done, over with. If you want to keep complaining, go sit at another bar somewhere and mope. I'm trying to work."

Munch tilted his head at Fin and said, "You know, I've forgiven her for it. And Lennie. In fact, when I decided to move to New York, I looked into being his partner in homicide."

"Why didn't you? I'll be a lot happier," he muttered under his breath as he continued to fill out the police report.

"I know you're just saying that because you're angry about Detective Goren. I'll let that slide," Munch said as he peered over his glasses, "for now."

Fin sighed and shook his head as he dropped the file in his hand and picked up the phone. "I'm calling the hospital, maybe they got some results back."

"Last I remember, a tox report took weeks. Unless they have a some kind of special power to speed up the machines-"

"John, shut up," Fin told him as he leaned back in the chair and waited for someone to answer the phone.

"Now that hurt," he said as he got up and went to leave. Turning back, he asked, "More coffee?"

"Yes, thanks," Fin said as the ringing stopped and a woman answered.

"Saint John's Hospital. How may I help you?"

"Yeah, this is Detective Tutuola with Special Victims. Can I speak with Doctor Kendal? Is she still there?"

"Let me check, detective. She could be gone for the day."

Fin rubbed over his head as he waited.

"If you had no memory, where would you go?" Munch asked as he handed him a cup of coffee.

Glancing up at Munch, Fin shook his head as he took the coffee, saying, "I have no idea. Somewhere out of the cold."

"Exactly," Munch said as he sat down at his desk. Picking up his phone, he said, "He had no wallet, right? So that means he has no identification. He can't stay at any of the fancy, rodent free hotels. That limits it to dumps that don't check for ID, homeless shelters, or the YMCA. My guess is that he's at some dump somewhere."

"So you're going to call all of them in the five boroughs?"

Munch glanced over at him as he took out a phone book. "I doubt he's on Staten Island. He wouldn't go too far. He'll more than likely go some place familiar."

"He has amnesia. Nothing's familiar."

"I beg to differ. You know, our subconscious minds are amazing things. Consciously nothing's familiar, but I guarantee you that he's being drawn to certain places and doing certain things on a subconscious level. He's from Brooklyn, right? I'm starting there."

Fin went to say something when the nurse come back on the line.

"I'm sorry, detective, but Doctor Kendal has already left for the evening."

"That's okay. All I wanted to know was if the results came back for Detective Goren yet? He's the guy that came in earlier as a John Doe."

"I can check for you," she told him before putting him on hold again.

Fin thought about what Munch had said and had to admit that it sounded pretty good. "Once I get off here, I'll help you out."

Munch just gave him a cheeky smile as he leaned back in his chair with the phone up to his ear.

The nurse came back on the line, telling him, "The file we have for him only has the x-rays, CT scan, MRI, and results of the his physical. The blood won't be done for a couple more days, a week at the latest."

"Anything interesting on the x-rays or scans?"

"There's evidence of a Grade III concussion-"

"Grade three, what does that mean?" Fin asked as he looked over at Munch who gave him a frown of concern.

"It's the most severe type of concussion, detective. It means that after he hit his head he lost consciousness and experienced amnesia of the events before and after the injury. However, in his case, he lost all his memory. Whether that was due to the fall or not is unseen, but it could be an attributing factor. It also explains the pressure in his head and the ringing in his ears that he complained of. Those are classic symptoms of a concussion. Thankfully, there is no evidence of bleeding of, in, or around the brain."

"How long do the symptoms usually last?"

"It depends. It could be days, weeks, or sometimes months."

Fin let out a sigh and said, "Okay, thanks."

"Oh, and there's one more note at the bottom. There was no evidence of recent intercourse. If there had been, either a condom was used or he cleaned up afterwards."

"All right, thanks again," Fin said before hanging up. Looking at Munch, he told him, "Our boy has a pretty nasty head injury, but no bleeding in the brain. And it looks like nothing happened in that motel room. Whoever took him just wanted to make him think it."

"But why?" Munch asked as he searched for a number in the phone book. "What would the prep gain from only making him think he was violated."

"Honestly, I don't know, but when we catch her I'll be sure to make that my number one priority."

"You take the 6th Avenue Hotel in Prospect Heights, and I'll call the Motel 6 in Wingate."

Fin took the number Munch passed over to him and picked the phone back up. He dialed the number and took a sip of the coffee. After two rings a man picked up.

"Sixth Avenue Hotel, what'd you want?"

"What'd I want? I want to know if anyone's checked in recently who didn't offer up an ID?"

"Who're you, the cops?"

"Yeah, I'm the cops. I'm looking for a man, six foot four, packing light."

"How'd I know you the cops?"

Fin sat up straight in the chair as he told him, "You'll know when I came down there and stick my badge and a warrant in your face. Then I'll go through each room-"

"Okay, I get it." The man was quiet for a moment before telling him. "I had a guy come in about an hour ago. Big guy, tall, with only a shopping bags. He paid cash."

"What'd he look like?"

"I don't know. He was wearing a Yankees cap."

Fin wrote that down as he asked, "He still there?"

"I don't know. I didn't see him leave but there's a side exit and fire escape."

"Good. Stay there and don't go anywhere. I'll be there soon with that warrant."

"Mother-"

Fin hung the phone up before the man could finish. Smiling over at Munch, he told him, "I think we got him. The 6th Avenue Hotel. He got there an hour ago."

Munch got up to follow him as he asked, "How'd we know it's him?"

"We don't, but I got a feeling. Oh, and he's wearing a Yankees ball cap."

"Huh," Munch said as they left the building, "I would've taken him for a Mets fan."

* * *

_210 Mather Street_

_Greenpoint, Brooklyn_

He paced along the sidewalk, staring up at the building as he smoked a cigarette. It was a two story house on the corner a block over from Franklin Street. The house had been renovated and converted into three separate apartments. From the mailboxes he looked at, the basement apartment was being rented by two people with last names Allen and Ouwinga. The top floor was being rented by a Mr. Victor Bachmeier. It actually had the "Mr." in the name. The first story floor had two names: Goren/Eames.

The detective had been telling him the truth. They were together, and she lived with him. He wanted to go in, but he couldn't. Not yet. The light was on in the front room and he had went around back and saw another light on in what looked to be the bedroom. There was a back door to the building as well as a very small yard. In the yard was a covered grill on a small concrete patio. The yard was fenced in with a wooden fence while the house was fenced in by a chain-linked one. There was a thin alley running behind the houses, only room enough for one car to get through at a time, but a parking area had been made with use of concrete slabs and spray paint to mark the spaces.

Right behind the house was a vacant lot with overgrown grass and bushes and shrubs. Building materials and old bicycles and flat basketballs littered the lot along with patches of rocks and puddles from the melted snow. Next to the vacant lot was another house, next to another, next to another. All the neighborhoods streets looked the same to him. Stifling, suffocating, with nowhere to move or to breath. Everyone was right next to each other and on top of one another with shared yards, shared spaces, shared mailboxes, and shared houses. Yet, everyone minded their own business. No one even took a second look at him as he continued to pace out on the sidewalk, smoking, and staring at the light waiting for it to go off.

It took hours. He was trying to keep warm as he pounded his feet on the pavement and smoked his fifth cigarette. His hands were numb in his pockets and he was starting to shiver when the light finally went off. Blowing smoke out of his throat, he waited a little longer before circling around to the back of the building. The light in the bedroom was still on and he saw her come into the room.

Eames was using a towel to dry her wet hair as she disappeared out of his sight. He wondered if they always left the blinds open or if it had been an oversight. She, or he, forgot to close them. Going over to the back steps, he sat down as he continued to watch her through the window. She was putting clothes away, bringing hangers from somewhere off in the room that he couldn't see, and putting clothes on them before taking them back. She picked up a tank top and went to take the shirt off she'd been wearing. He quickly looked away, and feeling partly ashamed and partrly confused by doing so.

He was with this woman, probably having seen her dress and undress hundreds of times, but he ducked away. It was because at that time in his life, he didn't know her. He didn't know the way her body looked, he didn't know how it felt under his fingertips or the way she tasted in his mouth. He didn't know how she thought or who she was as a person.

She was a stranger to him. And he felt like a stranger to her.

Looking back, he saw her standing there, staring down at the bed. Her look was one of worry and sorrow as she picked up a shirt. A man's shirt. He watched as she brought it up to her face as she clung to it.

Feeling a tightness in his chest, he looked down at the steps as her tears fell into the shirt. She was missing him deeply as he couldn't manage any feelings for her other than sympathy. He couldn't miss someone he didn't know, but it hurt none-the-less. It also angered him. He was furious that he couldn't remember her. He was furious that his life was so empty and blank and lifeless.

By the time he looked back up, the room was dark.

Taking out another cigarette, he lit it and thought as he waited. When he finished the smoke he felt it safe to enter. He stood and pulled out the set of keys he had. Going through the keys, he found the right one that fit the locks.

Quietly, he opened the door that brought him into a small foyer and right into the kitchen. He shut the door and locked it behind him as he stuffed the keys back in his pocket. Taking a moment to let his eyes adjust, he listened for any noise in the house. It was so quiet he heard the refrigerator hum and then the central heat kick on. He took his time looking around the kitchen, taking in the room and the evidence of his life.

Home, he thought. This was his home.

He had flyers and reminders all over his refrigerator. A home phone sat on a counter along with a notepad, calendar, and a police shield. Picking it up, he read the numbers 3798 and didn't know if it was his or hers. He put it back down and headed into the living room. A bookshelf was the first thing he noticed. It was on the wall to his right and on it were more than just books.

Picking up a picture frame, he took in the sight of himself and Eames. They were seated together at what looked to the Policeman's Ball, dressed in their dress uniforms, and she was leaning into him as he had his arm wrapped around her shoulders. They were both smiling, both looking happy. Putting the picture down, he shifted his eyes to another. It made him smile. In the picture of the two of them, they were both standing outside in the cold and Eames had pulled his wool cap down over his eyes while he yanked her scarf up over her mouth and nose. From the smile on his face and the look in her eyes, they were both laughing about it. He wondered who had taken that photo.

Taking his eyes off the two of them, he looked to the next photo and stilled. It was of Eames but she was in the hospital and in her arms was a baby. The blanket wrapped around the baby was blue, making him assume it was a boy.

Looking around the living room again and into the kitchen, he didn't see any signs of there being a child living there. But, she had been the one to deliver the baby boy. So…was he a father? Did he have a son? Running a hand through his hair, he tried to steady his raising thoughts. He had to calm down and continue looking.

After taking a look over the rest of the pictures on the shelves, he realized something. Of all the pictures of the boy as he'd gotten older, the only one of them in the picture was Eames. He wasn't in any of them. If he had been the boy's father, wouldn't there be a couple with him holding the boy or smiling with him as well?

So, maybe the child wasn't his. He was so confused. Shaking his head, he looked over the books on the shelf instead. There were lots of books and it also explained why the librarian knew him. More than a couple were old library books. He heard a noise off to his left, startling him. He turned and saw a cage with a bird flapping around in it.

The bird started chirping and jumping from one bar of the cage to the other. He looked toward the foyer and hoped that the bird didn't wake Eames. Finding nothing more in the living room, he rounded the corner and opened the first door on the left. It opened to a study with more bookcases and an old roll-top desk. Going into the room and shutting the door, he sat at the desk and went through every drawer one at a time.

He read over all his records, found his social security card and birth certificate. He was born to William Liev Goren and Frances Rosina Anello, and his full name was Robert Oliver Goren. He was born on August 20th, 1961 in Brooklyn. He found medical records in a bottom drawer, his own along with his mother's. He took those with him to the couch under the windows and read through them all. He also found his father's death certificate. Dropping the files to the floor, he rubbed over his pounding head as he read about his mother and her illness.

Holding his head in his hands, he groaned against the pressure in his head as the ringing got louder. Leaning back against the cushions and closing his eyes, he tried to relax as it got harder to stay awake. He was exhausted.

Before he realized it, he was asleep.

TBC…


	5. To My Partner

A/N: Many thanks to the reviews and to everyone reading!

Enjoy!

* * *

6th Avenue Hotel

He had gotten the call while on his way out of the 1PP parking garage. It hadn't been confirmed yet, but the SVU detectives had a possible on Goren's whereabouts. He hurried as fast as he could over the bridge into Brooklyn and into the neighborhood of Prospect Heights. He drove past streets of brownstones and row houses on his way to the hotel. Pulling up along the curb, he saw both detectives, Fin and Munch, talking amongst themselves.

He got out of his car and met them at the bottom of the steps. Fin looked toward the car then at him, expecting an answer. Logan shrugged, explaining, "I didn't want to call her. She hasn't slept good in days and if Goren's not here then there's no reason to interrupt her night." He continued toward the door, following behind both Munch and Fin.

"And if he is here," Munch asked Logan as he stopped beside the door.

"Then I'll wake her up," Logan said as he pulled his coat around his body tighter. "What happened to our nice warm front. It's freezing out here."

"It's called winter," Munch told him as Fin walked between the two of them to open the door. "A once a year occurrence that starts in November and doesn't end until April if we're lucky. You know it actually snowed in August once."

"Oh, yeah, when was that?"

"The ice age, my friend."

Fin turned as they approached the desk and glared at Munch. "You mean the year you were born, old man."

Munch narrowed his eyes at him while Logan just laughed.

"Can I help you?"

Fin turned to face the owner as he pulled out his shield. "Yeah, I got that warrant." When the man behind the desk went a few shades pale as he went to speak and nothing came out, he pulled out the picture he had of Goren and showed it to the guy. "Was this the man you checked in?"

The manager looked it over and shrugged, saying, "Like I said before, he was wearing a ball cap. It could'a been him, I don't know."

"But it could have, so hand over the key to the room," Logan told the man who did as he was told.

Fin took the key as he and Munch started for the staircase.

"You know this thing about Global Warming," Munch said as they approached the third floor. "The public's got it all wrong. It's not going to lead to global heating, but to global cooling. We're doing nothing but accelerating our planet back into another ice age."

"I swear Munch if you start back on this Global Warming thing, I'm going to kick you down the stairs," Fin told him.

"And if you do that, I'll fall back into you. Taking you along for the long tumble down."

"Do you two do this all the time?" Logan asked as they continued up. "Maybe you two should take a vacation…away from each other. You sound like an old married couple."

As they approached the door, both SVU detectives stood off to the side of it as he knocked, yelling, "Goren, it's the police, open up."

When there was no answer, Fin used the key and unlocked it. Giving a nod, they all readied to enter the room as he turned the knob. He went in first followed by Fin and then Munch who stayed by the door so he could keep an eye on the hallway.

The room was very small and it didn't take long to clear the room and the attached bathroom. It was empty; there was no sign of Goren.

"Someone was here. There's still moisture on the mirror and the shower and sink's been used," Logan told them as he turned off the bathroom light. "There's a travel kit on the counter included with enough toiletries to last a few days."

"Bed hasn't been unmade," Fin said as he looked around the room and then in the dresser drawers. "I've got a couple pairs of clothes, newly bought. He's planning on returning."

Logan didn't hesitate as he told him, "I'll take the first watch."

"And I'll call it in," Munch said as he stepped out into the hall to make the call.

As Munch made the call, Logan asked Fin, "Hey, what did you find out at the motel?"

After they had broke from the hospital earlier that day, he and Eames had gone to the park while the SVU detectives headed to the Royal Motel.

Fin shook his head, telling him, "By the time we got there the place had already been cleaned. I talked to the cleaning woman, she told me that the cabinet in the bathroom had been pulled off the wall and it was broken all over the floor. She also cleaned up some blood on the floor. I got CSU there now going over the place. I also had them collect the bed sheets, pillows, and blanket from the laundry room. They hadn't been washed yet. If there's anything left, hopefully they'll find it."

* * *

_Bobby/Alex's Apartment_

_Her laughter was infectious. It sounded heavenly in his ears and before he realized it, a tremor started deep in his gut, heated up into his chest, and then tumbled out of his mouth as he shook against her body. He couldn't have stopped his own laughter if he'd tried. His eyes stung from the unshed tears as he turned his face into her bare stomach that trembled and clenched. _

"_Oh, God, Bobby," she breathlessly got out of her mouth before another fit of laughter rocked her body. _

_It was getting harder to breathe and as he looked up at her, seeing her face beet-red and smiling wide, he lost it again. He felt her arms wrap around him as she pulled him to her, holding him as they both let out their frustration and despair of the day that had proceeded that night into the blustering laughter that filled the dimly lit bedroom._

_He felt the contrast of the silky satin sheets over him and her silky smooth skin under him as he slid further up her body. Wrapping his arms around her shoulders, he pulled her closer as he turned them onto their sides as the remains of their laughter died. She grew quiet in his arms as he stared at the ceiling. Her warm breath shivered over his chest as his arms held her tighter._

_The moment of pure euphoria faded as the seconds ticked by. Her hand roamed over his chest, along his sides, and it was getting harder to remember what it was that had been so damn funny just minutes before. The more he thought about it, the more ludicrous it had been. It hadn't even been that funny, but in that moment it was what they both had needed to let go. To laugh. Especially after the horror they witnessed earlier that day. _

"_Stop it."_

"_Stop what?"_

_She cupped his cheek and turned his head toward hers. Kissing him over the lips, chin, and then over his jaw, she told him, "Thinking about it. It's not good to bring it home. You have to let it go, Bobby."_

_He gave a nod but knew that it was easier said than done. _

He woke with a start as he blinked back against sunlight that streamed through a set of maroon colored window drapes. Closing his eyes, he tried to hold onto that quickly fading memory. He grasped into the darkness that threatened to take it away from him. The more he fought to keep it, the worse his head felt. The pressing pressure grew in his head and the ringing vibrated in his ears again, causing him to groan in anguish against the pain, but more at the memory he couldn't hold onto. It vanished in the depths and he opened his eyes once again into the room and stared at the light pouring through the window, feeling lost once again.

Turning onto his back, he felt the muscles in his neck pull and the ones along his ribs ache from having laid on that side the entire night. Stretching out, he felt his legs hit a wall and he peered down at his shoes that he still wore. Realizing where he was, he pushed up off the couch as he jerked his head around.

He was alone. That was a relief; he didn't want to be found yet and it was a mistake to have dropped his guard enough to fall asleep. He couldn't have helped it. Last night was the first time he remembered feeling safe.

Getting up off the couch, he stepped on the files on the floor as he headed to the door. He could smell coffee along with the frying bacon in the air. It made his stomach growl. Easing the door open slowly, he listened for any sounds. In the distance he could hear her voice; Eames. She was talking to someone but he didn't hear any other voice. Stepping out into the hall, he looked toward the end of the hallway and into the bedroom. Another door was catty-cornered to the study; it looked to be the bathroom. He needed to use it, but not while Eames was still in the apartment.

"Logan!" she exclaimed, causing him to jump. "You found him and you didn't tell me?"

He approached the corner of the hallway and leaned against the wall as he listened.

"So what if he wasn't there, you still found where he was staying. I-…I can sleep after Bobby's found."

He stiffened at that as he realized she was talking about him. They had found him? That meant that they had found the hotel room he'd booked last night.

"Where are you now?" she asked in a sigh of defeat. "Okay, get some sleep, but don't forget that Caleb's autopsy is scheduled for ten this morning and we have an appointment with Carver and McCoy at one. I'm not planning on going in there without armor and ammunition, Logan. I want everything we can get to prove Bobby's innocence, or to at least put off this indictment until he's safe and his memory returns."

He had to smile at hearing her say those things. She was on his side, and he really believed now that he could trust her. Yet, it would have to wait. He had things he needed to do before he made his move to turn himself in, and he knew that he would have to do just that.

There was no way he could continue hiding out and avoiding having to face whatever lie ahead of him. However, he could choose when, where, and how it was done. And he wanted to wait until he knew more and had enough protection of his own so not to be railroaded.

Eames had barely answered his questions yesterday so he still didn't know what was going on exactly or why. She had only given him enough information to bait him, but not enough to satisfy his right, and need, to know, and that was frustrating. If he were innocent, he wanted to make sure he had people behind him to defend him when he couldn't. But, if he were guilty, he would want to know that too.

Going back into the study, he quietly shut the door behind him and then cleaned up the room just as quietly. From the look of the study, he was certain that Eames didn't come into it often. There were no signs of a woman in this room. It was perfectly organized, nearly obsessive-compulsive in its arrangement.

The bookshelves, which lined two of the walls, were full of textbooks on various subjects from psychology, criminal law, criminology; which he figured were common for a detective. The ones that weren't common for a cop were the books on Art, Military History that included not just the American involved wars but all the way book to the Greeks, Rome. There were books of Poetry, fiction written by great writes such as Hemingway, Dickens, Tolstoy, Poe, Homer, all the writers where a name was all anyone needed to know who it was. But also some that weren't so well-known, like James Baldwin, Malcolm Lowry, and Arthur Rimbaud.

All the books were in alphabetical order by author and then in sequence of publication. Over and over again, not a single book misplaced. And that was just the first bookcase.

The other had the bottom three shelves dedicated to magazines: 'Guitar World', 'Classic Cars', 'National Geographic', 'The Smithsonian', and the 'American Journal of Forensic Psychology'. The rest of the shelves were covered in whole collections of encyclopedias including a worn down collection of Catholic encyclopedia's, along with just about every type of language dictionary. He looked over old copies of the Bible, both old and new testaments, a worn copy of the Qur'an, and a Torah, all stacked together on one shelf.

He was well-read, well-educated, and it explained a lot. He couldn't remember any personal details about himself, but he could remember every detail about the books on those shelves.

In-between the books were various items such as signed baseballs and model cars and boats. There were also mementos from places all over Europe like Germany, the Netherlands, the UK, along with artifacts from China, Japan, and Korea. He spotted the Army beret next to the NYPD cap.

Then there was the old roll-top desk, and on the desk in a triangular case was a folded-up American Flag; through the glass on top of the case he could only see the blue with white stars. Behind that sat a single nameplate. Picking it up, he read the name that was inscribed on it: Sgt. Robert Goren.

He looked up above the desk at all the certificates that Robert Goren had received while in the Army and the few from the NYPD. Hanging up with the certificates were photographs of several Army units, and individual people. He realized that there were no pictures, not a single one, had family members in them. Maybe he wasn't close to his family, or he didn't have any.

The case that caused him the most pause hung right in the middle of the wall. It showed off the Army medals and accommodation pins. There were two separate, smaller cases, hanging to the left and right of that case: one held a set of dog tags, the other held another medal, the Purple Heart.

This was his life laid out before him. Everything he'd ever accomplished in his adult life, and career. It was not only intimidating, but disconcerting. All the evidence in that room pointed to a good cop and a hero, yet, he felt he didn't deserve any of it. He wondered if that feeling was one he always had, or if it was a new one due to what was going on now.

He heard someone walking down the hall and the door at the end of the hall shut. Eames was finishing getting ready for work. And, she had walked right by the room without attempting to open the door. He saw the lock on the inside of the door and reached over to lock it. For some reason, he was certain that Eames never once tried to open the door and come into the room since he'd been gone. There would be no reason for her to do it today. She thought he was on the lamb somewhere in the city.

Picking the files up off the floor, he sat down at the desk and looked through them again. This time with a clearer head. Last night he'd been tired and he in a hurry to read everything he could as quickly he could. This time he went slower, taking everything in and making connections he hadn't last night. According to the file, his mother was officially diagnosis with schizophrenia in 1970, at the age of thirty-two, making him nine years old. That made him wonder how long before then she'd suffered without anyone knowing what was wrong with her. He didn't have to read over a book on the subject to know that symptoms usually started a few years or more before any diagnosis could be made. He also wondered how he lived during those days. What his life was like; it had to have been difficult.

He heard the hurried clicking of the heels on the hardwood as Eames came back down the hall. Again, she passed right by the door and kept going. Listening for a moment, he felt more than heard a door shutting in the distance and then silence. Putting the file down, he got up and unlocked the door and stepped back out in the hall. He listened for another couple of minutes before going into the bathroom.

Once done, he went into the bedroom. The first thing he noticed was the big queen sized bed. It's headboard was up against the middle of the wall and on either side was a nightstand. On the bedside table closest to the door, he saw the small lamp and a couple of magazines stacked under a copy of 'The Stand' by Stephan King. There was also a cell phone charger cord lying across it with the opposite end still plugged into wall. On the bottom shelf under the closed drawer he saw a laptop computer.

On the other nightstand-the one on the other side of the bed and closest to the far wall-he spotted an alarm clock, a lamp, a stack of various library books, and a man's gold watch. He saw no cell phone charger or laptop on the bottom shelf, just more books. Picking up the watch, he felt the embroidering on the back. Turning it over, he read what was written: '_To my partner, Robert Goren_'. He returned it to the nightstand and left it there as he walked around the rest of the bedroom.

The closet door was open, revealing a walk-in with two separate sides. To the right was her side of the closet. To the left was his. He didn't have a lot of suits, he counted six. But he did have an array of dress shirts. Near the back of the closet he spotted a dress blue uniform. The nameplate that was still attached to it read 'Goren'. He had a couple of ribbons representing various awards he'd received over the years. From the two blue hash-marks on the left sleeve, with each mark indicating five years of service, he determined he'd been on the police force at least ten years but not exceeding fifteen. If he'd been in for fifteen years or more, there would be three blue hash-marks. He looked at the other uniform in the closet, the one that read 'Eames'. It also had two blue hash-marks on the sleeve.

The only thing he took from the closet was an empty black backpack. Going over to the dresser, he started to search it. There was a picture frame on the dresser, on what to appear to have been her side, and it caused him to pause. Eames was in it with another man, and they looked happy. Picking the picture up to study it more closely, he realized it was a wedding photo. She had been married, and it wasn't to him. He didn't know what to think of the picture, or the other ones in the living room with her and that baby boy. Maybe he wasn't the father afterall, but this other guy. A husband that she was no longer with but still kept their wedding picture on the dresser in their home.

Trying not to think too much about it and what it meant, he put the picture frame down then opened the drawers. He took some clothes out and tossed them on the bed before heading to the bathroom. He took his time showering but didn't shave again, opting to let the beard grow out. Right now his face was plastered all over the news and now possibly on the front page of newspapers. The picture looked like it was a few years old and he had been clean-shaven in the photo. He knew it wouldn't do much to hide him, but he no longer at the moment looked like a cop.

He changed into the clean clothes and picked up the watch; after slipping it on his right wrist he left the bedroom. Before he left the house, he grabbed an empty file folder out of the study and collected some paperwork including his birth certificate, social security card, bank statement, and the most recent bills with his name and address on it and put them in the backpack.

There was a lot of loose change and one dollar bills in a big coffee cup on the counter in the kitchen. He emptied it out before taking one last look around. He spotted an address book by the home phone and he took it along with him as well before leaving.

* * *

_Office of Medical Examiner_

_One Police Plaza_

Alex entered the room and immediately felt confused as she looked around for Rodgers. The office was empty and there was no body being prepped for an autopsy. Checking the time, she saw that she was right on time. Going through a set of double doors, she spotted an assistant wearing a pair of earphones and eating either a late breakfast or early lunch at a desk while bopping his head to whatever music he was listening. She walked over to him and leaned against the desk, causing the young guy to jumped out of his skin.

He yanked the earphones out of his ears and she could hear the rap music that blared out of them. "Detective-"

"Where's Rodgers?"

"Sh-she had a meeting," he told her as he looked around the office nervously. "She, uh, she had to push the autopsy back until eleven."

"A meeting with whom and why wasn't I informed?"

He blushed at that as he sheepishly told her, "I-I was going to call. I got distracted," he stammered out. "Sorry."

She waited a beat and then asked again, "What meeting?"

"Oh, uh, the PD's office. She said it was for an upcoming trial. They wanted to go over the file."

At hearing that, Alex started out of the office as she pulled out her cell phone. The moment she went to turn the corner, Logan was coming around it.

"Whoa, hey," Logan exclaimed as they nearly collided. "What's the hurry? I thought we had an autopsy?"

"It's been pushed back an hour. Rodgers was called out to a meeting at the Public Defender's Office."

Logan narrowed his eyes at that as the turned to follow her out. "You're thinking it's McCoy?"

"No, he would have her go to his office. I think it's that guy Starks, Paul Savoie's lawyer."

"You think he's trying to get her to testify for the defense?" Logan asked incredulously.

Alex hit the button on the elevator to take them up to the eleventh floor. "You make it sound like that's implausible. Rodgers is a great M.E., Logan, but she has testified for the defense before, when it was clear that the evidence ruled in their favor. She unbiased, just like any good Medical Examiner should be."

"Yeah, but…I don't see her going against Goren."

"She has before," she told him as they got onto the elevator.

Logan looked at her with confusion as he asked, "When was this?"

"During his first year with Major Case. He thought for sure that a man had been murdered. Swore up and down that it wasn't a suicide. Rodgers ruled it a suicide, and when he tried to fight it, well, he didn't win the fight. They started off on the wrong foot and they still rub each other the wrong way every now-and-again." Then, before Logan could ask, she answered him, "And yes, it was a suicide. Eventually he came around to see it that way, but he never apologized to Rodgers for the temper he threw in her office over it. Beyond popular belief, Goren has been wrong."

Logan held up his hands as the doors slid open. "I didn't say it, but you're right. I saw him get blinded on a case once on Staten Island. Once he's made up his mind, it's very hard to change it. He's like a pit bull once he sets his jaws into a suspect. Kind of like all of us, though."

"Yeah, but with him it's worse because most of the time he refuses to see the other possibilities, especially when he believes so deeply that he's right." Alex sat heavily at her desk as she rubbed at her head.

Logan was watching her, she could feel it. "How're you holding up?"

She glanced over at him and said, "Don't worry about me, Logan. Let's worry about the case. We still have that meeting with McCoy this afternoon and we've got nothing but a video surveillance footage of a woman that could maybe or maybe not be Nicole Wallace."

Since Saturday, she had updated Logan on everything they had on Nicole. It was a pretty extensive file and she remembered how Logan had made a joke about her. _Beauty, brains, and a complete psychopath, my dream girl._ That had been his exact words and she couldn't help but think that Bobby had once upon a time nearly told her the exact same thing about the women he went for. Although instead of saying psychopath, he had told her he liked the crazy, feisty types because they seemed to be more passionate and he loved their energy. But, then he had told her that with those type of women, he nearly always got into some serious trouble.

She didn't know where she fell in line with what he wanted or needed from a girlfriend. He never talked to her about it. All he ever told her was that he wanted and needed _her_, but never explained what it was about her that drove him so much crazy and in love. He'd told her the things he didn't like about her, and how she drove him crazy mad, but never what settled him, never what brought that goofy and yet sweet smile that always seemed to be kept especially for her.

After all these years together, he was still a mystery to her. And now, with the added knowledge of amnesia, she feared what that would do to not only him but to them. He was a hard man to figure before, now, she thought it would be nearly impossible to predict his moves. She hoped that he would recover from this injury, whatever it was, and get back to her.

The anger she had felt for him yesterday had all but evaporated. Bobby wasn't missing because he didn't want to confront her; he was missing because he had something happen to him. Something so severe that he didn't want to remember it. She wondered if it was the knowledge of Caleb's relationship to him, or his death, or a combination of everything that had happened to him over the past year and it had all finally crashed down on him.

Or, if it was something else entirely. They didn't know what had happened in that motel room. They didn't know why his car was abandoned. They had no leads but plenty of speculation. At this point, that was a very dangerous place to be.

"Eames, Logan, my office," Deakins called out to them from his office.

They both looked at each other with a sense of dread. What now, she wondered as she walked to his office. Once inside, she closed the door and sat down in the chair.

Deakins was looking tired and worn down. She wondered if he slept at all last night and figured he hadn't. The brass was beating down heavily on him over the recent developments that had spiraled out of control over the past couple of days.

He sat on the edge of his desk and rubbed over his tired-looking eyes before breathing out. "At the request of the DA's office, you and Logan are off the Caleb Cunningham case."

"What?" she exclaimed as she bolted out of the chair. "They can't do this."

"Yes, they can. The Chief agrees, and so does the Commissioner. Eames," he said looking straight at her. "It was my mistake putting you on it to begin with. You both have history with Goren as partners, and you're currently in a relationship with him. It's a conflict of interest. There's no discussion, no battle to be won. You're off the case. The both of you," he said looking at Logan.

"Captain," Logan went to protest yet more calmly.

"It's final, Logan," Deakins stressed again. "Now, get back to work."

"Doing what?" she asked a little too sternly.

Deakins stared at her as he said, "For one, you can finish up what you got and have the file on my desk by noon so I can get it to someone else before anymore time is wasted. You're still point of contact if Bobby's spotted again, but that's as far as your involvement goes. The first new case that comes in will be yours."

She looked over at Logan who avoided all eye contact as he stood to leave. She swung the door open and stalked out, head held high as she tried to steady her anger and focus it on a plan of action. The only thing she could do was hope Bobby called her again or turned up somewhere.

Until then, all she could do was wait.

TBC…


	6. His Move

A/N: Thanks everyone for reading and reviewing! I enjoy reading what you all have to say and what you think. I get a lot of ideas from what I'm given in reviews. So please keep them coming.

Like I said, this is an alternative timeline now, so I'm granted liberties. I know it's too early in the year 2005 to bring this character in, but I don't care.

Enjoy!

* * *

_Major Case Squad_

Deakins stared down at the files on his desk and felt a tremor radiate through his head. There were three files: one was on the Caleb Cunningham case, including his death. One was on Goren's disappearance, and the other was on a new hire. More specifically, an outside hire to take over the case. The brass didn't want anyone who could be biased to be put on the investigation. That went both ways, in favor of Goren's guilt or in favor of his innocence.

Taking a deep breath, he picked up the file and flipped it open. He reread the information, went over past history, qualifications, and saw nothing wrong with the choice in hire. The ringing of the phone broke through the radiating in his head; reaching over, he answered, "Deakins."

"Hey, Jim, it's Don."

Seating back in his chair, he smiled into the phone. "Don, what can I do for you?"

"I know your guys are taking over this investigation, and I was hoping for a favor."

"I wish I could give you one, but the brass was very clear. They don't want any influences. Goren's with your department, he has a history with your detectives, and his friendship with Detective Tutuola goes back to his days working Narcotics."

"They don't trust in their own detectives to be unbiased and professional?" Cragen exclaimed in astonishment.

Deakins rubbed at his head, feeling his own anger building but it wasn't toward his friend. "Listen, Don, I agree with you. I do, but I can also see why the brass wants to ensure that this investigation is done right. What if McCoy gets the Grand Jury to indict Goren and it goes to trial? The last thing we want is to give McCoy more ammunition. And a conflict of interest between Goren and the people who investigated his case would certainly give McCoy tons of it."

Cragen was silent for a few moments before saying, "Thanks Jim."

Deakins was confused as he asked, "You're thanking me? For what?"

"For letting me know that I'm not the only one thinking just that. That's what I tried to tell Fin and Munch this morning when I took them off the case. So…any word on who's taking it up? I know it's going to be one of your guys."

"Yes, it is, but it's a new hire. Someone the brass has been looking at for a few years now. She's former FBI, no-nonsense, and unbiased because she's never met Goren and has no history with him whatsoever."

"Have you met her yet?"

"Not yet, but she's here on the ninth floor having a meeting with the brass."

"Okay," Cragen said, sounding defeated and distraught now that there was nothing left to argue over. "You received the file I sent over?"

"It's here, I was just looking at it," Deakins told him as he looked to the file concerning Goren's disappearance that the SVU detectives had been working on. "Once she gets here, I'll turn her loose on it."

"Just her? The brass isn't going to bring in another body to partner her up with?"

Deakins smirked as he told him, "I'm not a man entirely out of leverage. I put someone on the table to be partnered with Barek from inside the department."

"Oh, yeah, who?"

"Me."

Cragen was silent again, this time for an entirely different reason. "You? You're the Captain of Major Case."

"And that's exactly why they have to trust me to run a fair investigation. If they can't even trust the Captain to be professional, than who? I'm not saying I'm going to be running around the city, but I am going to get my hands dirty on this one. I want to know the truth of what happened and I want no stone unturned and no lead not followed. I'm going to go wherever this case takes us, no matter if it's to Goren's guilt, I'm going to find out what happened to my detective and why."

"Well, my friend," Cragen said after a moments pause, "good luck and God speed."

"Yeah, thanks. I think we're going to need all the help we can get. I'll talk to you later." Deakins hung up the phone as he leaned forward on his desk.

Looking out into the squad room, he saw a woman walking toward his office. She was full of purpose and determination. The former FBI profiler turned New York City police detective Carolyn Barek, despite being able to see him through the glass door, stopped and knocked before waiting for him to tell her to enter.

Deakins hoped the brass knew what they were doing, and he had to trust them. Even if he didn't like it, he had to trust their decision. For Bobby's sake. "Come in," he called out as he went to stand to greet the new addition to the Major Case Squad.

After a brief discussion talking to Barek about the case and what they were after, the truth no matter where it lead, they were on there way down to the M.E's office. The autopsy had been moved to afternoon since Rodgers had been called out to a meeting. It was nearly four in the afternoon now, having given Rodger plenty of time to conduct the autopsy and get results back. Sure enough, while he was rounding the ground level landing, he received a text that it was completed.

Barek didn't seem to have a problem with him partnering up with her for the case; she seemed to get the importance of this case and the limited time they had in completing it to the best of their abilities. He held the door open for her to go ahead of him into the office.

Rodgers was waiting for them and the moment he stepped into the room, she was handing him a printout. "He was poisoned."

Taking the report, he read it over before handing it to Barek. "Potassium Chloride; his heart was stopped."

"The injection point is under his tongue," Rodgers explained as she walked over to the body.

Deakins looked down at the seventeen year old for the first time. He saw the facial features, the dark brown eyes that blankly stared up at the ceiling and couldn't help but noticed the similarities with his detective. They were subtle, but they were there.

Rodgers opened the mouth and used a tool that looked like a pair of pillars to pull the tongue back. There was a square bruising on the underside of the tongue where a needle had been placed to inject the deadly chemical combination into the young man's body.

"He didn't die from blood loss?" Barek asked as she rounded the body to get a better look at the stitched up gunshot wound.

Deakins eyed the wound that Barek was referring to as he listened to Rodgers.

"Definietly not. There wasn't enough blood loss to have caused any life-threatening injury or death."

"And the trauma to his face?"

"Not made by a fist," Rodgers said that as she looked straight at him instead of to Barek who had asked that question. "The facial damage was made by an object." She picked up a stack of photos and handed them to him.

Deakins took them and at seeing the fractures before and after the autopsy, he saw what she had seen. The blood settling, the cleanup of blood from the face, and the result were the obvious circular patterns. "A hammer?"

"That would be my guess," Rodgers said. "Whoever did this wanted us to think that he was beaten within an inch of his life and the blood loss from the ripped stitches resulted in his death."

"But instead it was a needle to his tongue," Barek said as she looked over the photos he had handed to her. "It still doesn't clear your detective," she told him as she pocketed the photos, "but it raises a lot of questions."

"Not for me," Deakins said. "It points to the one other person, the one who we are certain actuality committed this murder. A serial killer that Goren's been after for over three years now: Nicole Wallace."

* * *

_NYC Downtown Hospital_

_Downtown Manhattan_

Alex had taken off the moment she handed Deakins the file she had on the Caleb Cunningham case. Not being able to work it had infuriated her. Logan had tried to calm her down but he had been unsuccessful. She couldn't calm down. Granted, she understood the why's. She understood the impact it would have if it went to trial. How the jury would see her as not an unbiased cop but as Bobby's girlfriend. But it would also be a conflict with Internal Affairs. They would never accept a case being investigated by the cop's girlfriend. It would cause to many problems and questions. The best thing to do was to take her off the case.

Still, it pissed her off. She felt helpless. Bobby was still out there, with no memory, and there wasn't anything she could do to help him or protect him. All she could do was wait until he got back in touch with her. She had tried calling the number back, but he didn't answer. A part of her was afraid that he refused to answer because he didn't trust her, and another part of her was afraid because he was injured somewhere. If he'd been picked up by the police, she would have known. She was still the detective that would be contacted if he was found. At least she still had that.

Getting off the elevator, she made her way down a long hallway with two cups of coffee and a card she'd picked up at the gift shop. There was a uniform standing outside the door as she approached. Luckily she had decided to clip her badge on her coat before entering the hospital. It kept a lot of people from confronting her as she made her way through the floors.

"Is Detective Benson still here?" she asked as she stopped outside the closed door.

"She's around," the cop told her. His name was Morgan.

Gesturing toward the door, she asked, "Is the family?"

"Only the wife. The kids left a few hours ago."

She didn't want to go in with Kathy in there. Deciding to give the couple their privacy she went in search of Liv. It didn't take long to find her. She was down the hall in a waiting room, and she was talking on the phone.

The moment she saw her, she ended the call and came over to take a cup of coffee from her. "You got here quick."

"It was a short drive. One P.P. is right up the street."

Liv took a sip of the coffee then asked her, "Have you heard?"

"That the brass is taking everyone off the case? Yeah, I was told."

"Sorry. I just got off the phone with Munch, they were stripped of the case as well because of Fin's friendship with Bobby and the fact that he's still a detective with us."

"Any word on who's taking it over?"

Liv shook her head, but said, "It's someone from Major Case, that's all we know."

Alex went to sit down in the chair and realized she still held the card. Handing it to Liv, she told her, "This is for Elliot. How is he?"

"Better. He's awake and alert, but there's swelling from not only the injury but the surgery. The doctors want to monitor him for a few more days, make sure he doesn't produce a blood clot or that the swelling doesn't get worse. Right now, it's pressing on his spinal nerves, causing him not to have any sensation in his neck."

"They're afraid of paralysis?"

Liv gave a nod as she closed her eyes, fighting back the tears. "The dagger had sliced through a lot of nerves and tissue and arteries. It did a lot of damage, Alex. The surgery increased the risk of because of the sensitive nerves they had to try and put back together. I don't understand it all, I'm not a doctor, but I do know that they're concerned of weakness or permanent loss of feeling in his neck. And his voice…It was very close to the voice box and nerves or whatever that controls the voice. He can barely speak right now, and his voice is weaker than it was before. There're many things the doctors are still concerned about," she finally finished with a deep sigh before taking another sip of the coffee.

Alex rested her hand on her friend's shoulder; giving it a squeeze, she told her, "He'll get through this. He's strong and if it comes down to physical therapy, you know he'll be fighting as hard as he can to get back to normal."

Elliot had become a friend to her and a good friend, almost a best friend, to Bobby. It had pained her to have seen Elliot hanging on for dear life, but it nearly broke her heart to have witnessed Bobby's struggle. He had blamed himself for Elliot's injury, and then when he found out that he could have helped to save his life by giving blood but couldn't because of the restrictions on blood donors, the guilt had nearly done him in.

Now, Bobby is out there with no memory of his friend who was still clinging to life. Elliot was better, but he wasn't in the clear. A blood clot could form or the nerves could not heal right and he could have no strength in his neck for the rest of his life, thus ending his career as a cop. At this point all they could do was hope for the best, and that wasn't just for Elliot, but for Bobby too.

"So," Liv said after a moment of regaining her strength. "What's this I hear about Bobby? I heard you talked to him…How is he?"

Alex smiled a little at Liv's concern. Bobby and Liv had started off on the wrong foot as far as being friends was concerned. Where Bobby had immediately gotten over his distrust of Elliot to become his friend, he had been slow to befriend Liv. She figured that Bobby didn't see the point, she didn't know, but it took him a long time to warm up to Liv. And still, they weren't close but that didn't stop Liv from asking about him out of worry and friendship to her.

Shaking her head, all she could think of to say was, "He's lost, Liv. I'm so afraid for him right now. He has no idea who he is and what's going on. It's scary to think about and to wonder if he'll ever be found, and I'm not just talking physically. I don't know the extent of the damage done to his psyche. I don't know why he's not remembering, if it's because of a drug or damage to his brain, or if was some sort of mental choice his unconscious made to protect him from everything."

Liv gave her a weird look before smiling slightly, "You've been reading his books haven't you?"

Alex couldn't help but huff out a laugh. "Yes, I have. Ever since I learned of his amnesia, I've been researching it, trying to figure it out. I learned so much about it and the possibilities, but until I talk to Bobby, or until we get test results back from the hospital, it's all speculation."

"He'll remember, Alex," Liv told her. "Give it time, okay. You're not going to lose him."

That was her biggest fear. She was afraid of losing Bobby forever. She was afraid that he wouldn't love her anymore, that he would never remember them, their love, and that he would never come back to her.

Alex swallowed the hardness in her throat as she tried to push the fear away. As she tried to hang onto hope. She felt her cell phone vibrate in her pocket. Taking it out, she saw it was the number Bobby had called her from before. Getting up, she walked over to a corner to be alone as she answered, "Bobby?"

"I know about the cops sitting on the hotel."

She was taken back by his sudden bluntness and the hint of impatience she heard in his voice. "How?"

He was silent for a moment and she could hear noise in the background. He was in a crowded place. "You'll know soon enough. I, uh…I just wanted to spare you, and the department, the waste of time and effort. I won't be going back."

She went to speak when the dial tone sounded in her ear. Sighing, she hung up before flipping the phone open. She needed to let Deakins know to call off the stakeout at the hotel.

* * *

_Park Slope Ale House_

_6__th__ Avenue, Brooklyn_

He wanted to call her. The thought kept spinning around his head. He needed to talk to her again; he needed answers. However, each time he thought about it he remembered how she evaded answering anything directly the last time he had spoken to her. He remembered how she avoided certain questions. She didn't want to tell him the truth. That upset him and made him reluctant to call. Then there was the fact that she would only try to convince him to come in.

He wasn't ready to come in yet. He had his reasons, some personal and some out of fear. To say he wasn't afraid would be a lie; he was. He was deeply afraid of being guilty and that was why Eames refused to answer him.

Then this morning at his home, the pictures he saw and the things he heard. It all confused him even more. He didn't understand any of it. He had no starting point, no foundation, and no bearings. Like a ship lost at sea with no navigation, no lighthouse guiding it home, and all around him was the deep, dark raging ocean trying to devour him up.

Rubbing a hand over his head, he stared down at the cell phone on the table as he took a sip of the bottle of beer in his hand. Now that he had no doctors to worry about, he gave in and had a beer with his dinner.

"Done?"

He looked up at the waitress as she started to reach for the plate he'd pushed away. "Yeah, thanks."

"Would you like another?" she asked, gesturing to the beer bottle he was swirling in his hand.

Giving a nod, he smiled back at her smile as she took his plate and headed toward the kitchen.

"My, my, don't you have a wandering eye."

He took a sip of the beer as he looked away from the waitress and to a woman standing on the other side of the table. She was tall, blond, with blue eyes and a pretty smile. What he saw in those eyes were recognition and he felt that they knew each other. Before he could say anything, she pulled out the chair opposite him and sat down.

Tilting his head, he curiously asked, "You know me?"

"Of course, Bobby," she said with an accent he wasn't quite sure if it was Australian or British. "I know you quite well. I see you've been making progress."

"Uh, progress?"

She smiled at him as she rested her elbow on the table; leaning her face into her hand, she told him, "I've been keeping my eye on you. I followed you to the DMV where you got a brand new driver's license, and then to the bank where you reported your credit card missing and also withdrew a sizable amount of money. Very clever or you. And not once were you arrested, I'm impressed."

He stared over at the woman and this time the curiosity was gone. "Who are you?"

The smile never left her face but it grew, making her appear amused, as she said, "You really don't remember me, do you? You don't remember all our talks, the games we've played?" She stood and slowly approached him as she ran her hand over the table top. Reaching up, she touched his face as she barely cupped his cheek and turned his face up toward hers as she leaned down. "All the fun we've had over the years."

Staring up into her twinkling blue eyes, he felt a spark ignite deep down in his gut. He knew this woman really well, and he wasn't sure if what he felt was a good or a very bad thing. The emotion he felt was strong, powerful, and it was the first time he had that reaction to anyone. He didn't even have that reaction to Eames, and she claimed they were together and in love. So, why was this woman stirring so many things inside of his mind and body, and yet Eames hadn't?

The more the tried to reason it out, the worse his head felt. It was another piece to the growing puzzle that was his life. This woman knew something.

"You feel it, don't you, Bobby? Our connection? I told you once, even though you don't remember, that I will always be with you." She said that mere inches from his face before she dropped her hand from his jaw.

As she sat back down, he had to gather himself as he tried to focus. There was no desire in him to run, to get away from her. Instead, he was drawn to her. He felt he had to stay, to talk to her, to see what she wanted. So, he picked up the beer and finished it off as the waitress returned with another.

"Anything for your friend?"

He glanced at the woman and wondered if that was who she was, a friend.

She picked up the cocktail menu and flipped through the pages before ordering a martini.

"I'll pay for it," he told her once the waitress left. "The least I can do."

"The least you can do…Such a gentleman. Or so it would seem."

He stared over at her as she said that. It resonated within him, like he'd heard that before. Or he could have been imagining things. Maybe he wanted a connection so bad with his former life that he would reach out and grab hold of anything. He was desperate for answers, but how far did that desperate go? How deeply?

He figured he would find out soon enough. Looking out the window, he spotted a man coming out of a coffee shop across the street. The man ran over to an unmarked sedan and got in.

"The police."

Glancing back at the woman, he gave a curt nod. "They're-"

"You shacked up in that hotel last night, or should I say part of the night. Did you sleep well at home or did you stay up all night with your thoughts and despair?"

The longer she talked the more nervous he got. Trying not to let it show, he answered, "I slept okay."

"Tell me, Bobby, did you sleep alone or did you sneak into your room at night and lie with her?"

Narrowing his eyes at her, he felt the anger gnaw at his gut as he figured out how to take that. He caught a hint of bitterness in her voice, it sounded like temptation and malice mixed together. The devil tempting her pry. Or a mistress tempting her lover.

He was in a motel room, with a woman…A woman that was neither Eames or this blond. Eames claimed they loved each other, but how far did his love go? From the way the woman was looking at him, touching him, and the emotions in her voice, he wondered how honorable of a lover and boyfriend he was to Eames. The thought burned something deep within his soul. The thought of being unfaithful pained him deeply.

"I was alone," he finally answered in a thick cool voice. Clearing his throat, he took a sip of the beer and tried to gauge her reaction.

She smiled; it was slight and sinister, and it did something to him that a smile like that should never do to a man.

"What do you want to do now?"

"What'd you mean?"

"I mean, it's your move, love."

His move. His…_move_. "My move? Okay," he said with a nod as he picked up the cell phone and called the only contact he had programmed into the phone. After a couple of rings, she picked up. Peering over at the woman as he talked, he told Eames, "I know about the cops sitting on the hotel."

He could hear the hesitation in her response and didn't know what to think about it. It was quiet where she was. It didn't sound like the inside of a police department.

"How?"

Taking his eyes off the woman, he looked down at the table. He wanted to tell her because he was there, at his home, but felt confused and conflicted. Trying to figure out who to believe was killing him. He didn't know who was playing him and who was telling him the truth.

But what he did know was that this woman sitting across from him knew something. He didn't know what yet, but he had to find out. He had to play her game; he knew it would lead to all the answers to his questions. She was the key, he was sure of it.

"You'll know soon enough," he told Eames instead. She would go to his home and she would notice the changes. She would know that he found her and that he had been there. "I, uh…I just wanted to spare you, and the department, the waste of time and effort. I won't be going back."

He closed the cell phone as he glanced out the window he was seated next to. It didn't take long-a couple of minutes-before the car that had been sitting across the street from the hotel pulled away from the curb. Watching as the car turned the corner, he leaned back in the chair and picked up the bottle of beer off the table.

After finishing off his second bottle, he waved the waitress over and asked for the check. The moment the waitress was away from the table, he asked, "What's your name?"

Offering him her hand, he gripped her palm as she introduced herself. "I'm Nicole. Nicole Wallace. Do you want me to keep calling you Bobby? You seem to flinch each time I say it."

Dropping her hand, he shifted in his seat as he thought about it. It seemed like whenever anyone called him that nickname, Bobby, that it bothered him. Maybe because it was such a personal name and it meant a deeper connection than just mere acquaintance. He didn't know anyone and yet they seemed to know him very well. That's why he had a problem with it.

Shaking his head, he said, "No…I, uh…I prefer Robert, for now."

"Until we get to know each other better?" she coyly asked. "I like it. Sort of like a game, isn't it, Robert? A game of getting to know one another."

He didn't know what to think of that, or what to say. Instead of saying anything, he reached into his pocket and pulled out some money as the waitress returned with the check.

TBC…


	7. Changes

A/N: I apologize for the long delay in updating. This chapter was hard to get right with all the dynamics that are being flushed out. I hope the next chapter comes quicker.

Thanks and Enjoy!

* * *

_Industrial Warehouse_

_East River_

The usually dark loading dock was lit up with swirling blue, red, and white lights from the various emergency vehicles surrounding the scene. The first to arrive were the patrols followed closely by the fire trucks. Two hours later, she slowed the department issue SUV to a stop behind the M.E.'s van. Logan sat still beside her as they both reached for their cups of coffee.

The weather was taking a turn for the worse. The city had blissfully been enjoying a slight warm front, turning the snow to puddles, but now the puddles were turning to ice as the temperature continued to drop. She had watched part of the weather forecast on the news that evening before the call came in. The state was once again preparing for a snowstorm.

After a few hefty drinks of the coffee, she was ready to face the bitter wind that whipped around the warehouses and vehicles. Staring out the windshield, she thought of the reason why they got the call to the scene. The person's ID had been found. It was burnt and half of the information and the photo were melted, but it belonged to Brenda Hanson.

Brenda was one of the people responsible for Bobby's shooting two months ago. Alex had checked the database first before leaving for the scene. Brenda had posted bail after the Grand Jury indictment and then disappeared. She had taken off; that was until her body was discovered earlier tonight.

Another thing she thought about was the last time she'd been at that particular warehouse. It was a few years ago while they were conducting a case of stolen jewels. When Nicole Wallace had come back into their lives after the jury presiding over her case found her innocent. It was also the last time she thought they would ever see Wallace after she fell out of the top window of the warehouse and into the river. Her lover had been killed, but Wallace hadn't.

Logan cleared his throat and she looked over at him as he pulled on his gloves and wool cap while saying, "If this scene is completely destroyed, I say we get in and out as quickly as possible. What do you say?"

She opened the door and got out, asking, "Define 'completely destroyed'?"

Logan gave her a look as she turned to shut the door. "Irrefutable deniability that we can't learn anything or find anything useful from the scene."

"Wow, you keep that up you might start impressing me," she said right before shutting the door.

Logan hurried to get out as he asked, "You saying I haven't yet?"

"After working with Bobby, my expectations are ridiculously high."

"Oh, how high?"

"You'll have to perform a miracle," she said as they walked toward the front of the warehouse. As she ducked under the crime scene tape, she added, "Or, you could speak Arabic."

Logan straightened from having to duck lower than her under the tape. "I wouldn't hold my breath on the Arabic," he told her as they spotted Rodgers leaning over the body.

It was covered by a white sheet, but she didn't need to see it to know what had happened. The presence of the fire department was a give away, as well as the smell of burnt hair and flesh. There was about a five foot burn radius around the body from where the accelerant had charred the concrete.

"It's a woman, problem is the body is burnt beyond recognition. We'll have to wait on dental. I doubt CSU can get a print off these hands."

"I thought her ID was found? Brenda Hanson?" Alex asked as she watched as Rodgers recorded the liver temp.

"It was, but we like to be one hundred percent sure that the ID matches the body." Rodgers stood and pulled off her gloves. Looking at her, she said, "TOD is inconsistent with the burning of the body."

"Are you saying she was killed first before she was set on fire? How long between the two?" Logan asked.

Rodgers shrugged, telling them, "Liver temp says she's been dead for over 24 hours. I can't give you anymore than that until I do the cut."

Logan wrote that down as he turned to her and said, "Ok, let's make this quick. I'll talk to the first on scene. Find out how the body was discovered. You see what the techies have found so far, if anything."

Alex watched as Logan turned to walk over to a group of cops who were standing just inside the tape line. The fact that Logan had taken control of the scene didn't came as a surprise. The detective was senior partner to her, which was a big change from her being senior to Goren. However, he never once tried to assert himself as senior to her until now. Normally, they both went off and did what they had to do without telling one another. They just knew what had to be done and did it.

She wondered if there was something going on with him or if he was finally showing this part of himself to her. After thinking about it, and about Mike's desire to get out of there as soon as possible, she figured it was something else. Maybe he had a date.

Trying not to give it anymore thought, she went over to the techies as they were photographing the scene and searching the ground floor for any clues as to the who and why. Approaching a friend of Bobby's, a tech she now knew to be Tom Dietrich, she asked, "Find anything?"

Dietrich glanced down at her and she saw the recognition in his blue eyes as he answered, "Detective Eames, how are you?"

"What have you got?" she asked again, not answering his question.

Dietrich had been the one to find out about Bobby's DNA connection to Caleb Cunningham. He was the man Bobby had first scene after leaving the hospital the night he was accused of killing Caleb. It was also the night Bobby had disappeared.

Dietrich looked taken back by her brush-off, but he quickly recovered as he pointed over to an open box. "We found the accelerate used," he told her as he brought his camera back up and snapped a photo of what looked to be a burn trail that lead from the back of the warehouse to the body. "The fire was started back here and then it spread along the floor to the body."

She went over to the box and saw a regular red plastic gas container. The kind anyone could buy at a store for five bucks. It was dented but other than that there was nothing special about the container.

"They tossed it after emptying it," Dietrich told her. "We found it across the room."

Alex heard him say that as she started to walk that direction. The entire bottom floor of the warehouse was burnt from the fire with fallen bricks and pillars, half the ceiling had crumbled to the floor. She had to be careful stepping over debris as she made it to the back door. Pushing open the door to the warehouse, she looked out across the river. The warehouse had been situated on one of the piers near the waterfront. Walking out toward the water, she noticed a ladder leading down to the water and several cleats to tie up small boats.

"Thinking of going for a swim?"

Alex nearly jumped out of her skin as she turned to see Logan coming up beside her. Leaning over the side, he saw what she was looking at.

"I'll note a possible boat as the getaway vehicle. I saw the gas can. Not much we can use as far as evidence in tracking the killer. A sanitation worker saw the smoke and called it in. He's been cleared."

She gave a nod and turned to tell the CSU's to print the railings and ladder when Dietrich stuck his head around the door.

"We found a jacket, wallet and cell phone. They belong to Goren."

Alex glanced over at Logan who had the same dumbfound look on his face as they headed back into the warehouse. Sure enough, it was Bobby's wallet. She was certain it was his from just seeing it through the plastic evidence bag. She had gotten him it for his birthday last year. His old one was getting old and the leather had dulled from years of use so she had gotten him a new one. Pressed into the leather at in the bottom right corner on both sides were two of his initials since he hardly used his middle name, if ever.

"Everything but money was left in it: driver's license, credit cards," Dietrich looked at her as he said, "Condoms."

Alex frowned as she heard that. Looking to him, she asked, "Condoms?"

"Yeah, in the part where the money goes. There were two."

She fingered the wallet in her hand, turning it over as she thought about that.

"What is it?" Logan asked as he took it from her and looked it over. "You two were, you know, involved," he softly said as he tossed the wallet back into the evidence box.

Alex gave a nod but didn't say anything else about it. Instead, she asked, "And the cell phone?"

Dietrich pointed over to a CSU tech who was hooking it up to a laptop. "That's Jeff department. He's downloading the sim card data onto the laptop and going over last calls, text messages, that sort of thing."

Since the era of portable computers and computer programs existed, the techs were able to do on-the-scene analysis of evidence instead having to wait to get everything back to the lab first.

"Where were they found?"

Dietrich nodded over to an area where desks sat. The warehouse was recently condemned and it had yet to be completely cleared of the furniture. "The jacket was slung over one of the desks, half buried under the fallen ceiling."

"How do we know the jacket's Goren's?" Logan asked as he picked up the suit jacket.

The jacket was Armani and looked his size. Bobby would sometimes keep an extra suit in his car, just in case. Alex eyed it and made a mental note to ask the crew who went over Bobby's car if they found the rest of the outfit in the trunk. "We don't, but it probably is," she told Logan as she went over to Jeff and waited for him to start speaking. He looked hard at work on the cell phone and she didn't want to interrupt.

"His last call was to our victim."

"Are you sure?"

Jeff glanced over at her like she was joking with asking that question. "I have Hanson's cell phone," he said as he held it up. "I have Goren's," he said while pointing to it. "Believe me, he called her."

"When?"

"February 19th…that would be Saturday night, at 11:26 exactly. The duration of the call was 3 minutes 56 seconds."

Alex took a breath as she registered the time. She had called Bobby that night at Carmel Ridge. He wouldn't answer his cell phone when she tried calling him all day, so she tried the facilities landline. She had talked to Bobby for less than a minute before he hung up, telling her that he was coming home. That was around eleven. So, after he had talked to her, he had called Brenda Hanson? That didn't make any sense. Neither did the condoms in his wallet seeing how they no longer used protection. She was on the pill and he didn't like wearing them despite his desire to not be a parent.

"He also sent a text an hour later, at 12:48."

She picked up the cell and read the text message. '_I'm here.'_ That was all it said, and there was no reply. "I want a full diagnostic on his phone. Everything you can get, and on my desk ASAP. Especially where he was when that call was made."

Jeff just gave a nod as he was once again focused on the computer screen.

"What'd you think is going on?" Logan asked as they headed out of the warehouse.

"Honestly, Logan, I have no idea," she told him as she pulled out the keys and tossed them to him. "You drive." Alex looked around the parking lot and spotted Rodgers talking to one of her assistants by the M.E.'s van. "Give me a minute," she told Logan before walking over to Rodgers.

Rodgers looked over and spotted her coming toward her. "Detective?"

Alex smiled slightly at interrupting her as she looked over to the assistant. He promptly left them alone, heading to the back of the van and taking out his cell phone. Once they were alone, she said, "I heard you were at the Public Defender's office earlier. Anything I need to know about?"

Rodgers eyed her as she let out a sigh. "My assistant Trevor told you that."

Giving a nod, she said, "I guess he didn't know that he shouldn't have."

Rodgers looked offended as she defended herself. "It's my job, Detective. Just like you I have the right to confidentiality, especially when I'm being subpoenaed."

"Against Goren," she said.

"No, Detective. At least not yet. I do have other cases. After I went over my testimony for another case, I was approached by Defense Attorney Leonard Starks, the man defending Paul Savioe. He wants me to go over all the autopsy files of the victims. He also wanted the results from Cunningham's autopsy as well, which I handed over to him before I got the call to come out here. And once this goes to trial, and I'm sure it will, he'll call me to the stand no matter whose side I'm on. Satisfied."

Alex saw the pained expression in her eyes and wished she hadn't asked. Giving a nod, she thanked her than turned away. She got into the SUV and took a breath.

"Everything ok?"

Not answering him, she was quiet the entire drive back to 1PP.

* * *

_Major Case_ Squad

She entered the room and spotted a woman sitting at her desk, using her computer. Stepping up to her, she asked, "May I help you?"

The woman held up a finger while she wrote something down. Alex glanced over at Logan who was barely containing a smirk as he pulled out his chair and sat down.

Looking up at her, the woman said, "You must be Detective Eames. I'm Detective Barek; I'm working on Goren's case."

"And using my desk?" she asked as she crossed her arms over her chest.

"Hey, I'm doing as I was told. Deakins allowed me to use your computer until he can get a desk for me and I'm given a computer of my own from supply. Until then, it looks like we're going to have to share."

"You can use mine, Eames," Logan offered as he took picked his up and held it out for her.

Alex pushed the computer away and shook her head. "You're working Goren's case, with the Captain?"

Barek sighed and looked back up at her. "Yes. Are you going to question me about this all night? I'm trying to finish this up so I can leave."

Alex went to respond back when she spotted Deakins rounding the corner and heading toward his office. It was late, he should have already left to go home by now. Saying to Logan, she told him, "Could you check the records for me? I'll be back." Without excusing herself, she hurried to his office.

Deakins looked up from picking up a file on his desk as she entered. "Eames, what-"

She closed the door behind her and turned to face him, asking, "Who's Detective Barek and why are you letting her use my desk?"

He stared at her for a long moment before picking up his coffee cup. Getting up, he asked while gesturing to the machine, "Want one?"

"Captain-"

"She's a new addition to this squad. We didn't get around to supply today, and since you were out, I let her use your desk and computer. She'll have her own tomorrow."

Alex looked back at the woman. Barek and Logan were talking across the desks at one another. "And you're working Bobby's case with her."

Deakins gave nod as he sat back down. Taking a sip of the coffee, he said, "She's doing most of the work. I'm just there to make sure it gets done and gets done right. So, what about your new case?"

Rubbing at her head, she took a breath as she told him, "Preliminary ID is that of Brenda Hanson."

"And why isn't the identification official?"

"Because the body is burnt beyond recognition. Until dental comes back to verify the half melted ID found on the body, we're waiting to call it."

"Good, anything else?"

Alex realized that Deakins didn't recognize the name and the significance. "Brenda Hanson was the Assistant Medical Examiner to Chief M.E. Eddie Kerr of Staten Island. She was also the one there that night when Bobby was shot. Three weeks ago she along with Detectives Dwight Travis, Jimmy Rivers, and Stanley Jackson were all indicted on the attempted murder of Bobby. And now, Hanson is found dead after making bail."

Deakins sat back in his chair as he listened. After a couple moments, he asked, "What about the others?"

"I don't know yet. Logan's checking records since Barek's at my desk."

They heard a tap on the door and when they looked, Logan was opening it. Sticking his head in, he asked, "Bad time?"

"What'd you got?" Deakins asked as he motioned for him to enter.

Logan closed the door behind him and then informed them, "Jackson and Rivers are still doing their time at Riker's in solitary confinement. Hanson put up bail two weeks ago, and Travis had his bail denied since he ran the last time he was out. His trial was pushed back to May."

"So, she was out for two weeks and suddenly turned up murdered. Any leads?"

Alex took a breath and finally told him what was they discovered at the warehouse. "CSU found a jacket, along with a wallet and cell phone at the scene."

"Great, we have a suspect. Track the person down and-"

"They were Goren's."

Deakins stopped talking as he stared at her in near shock. Finally, he said, "And you're just telling me this now? What did CSU get off it?"

"That there was a phone call and text message made to the victim from his phone. Nothing is really known yet or is definitive."

"Except for the fact that now your case is my case."

"Captain-"

"Eames," Deakins said as he got up and rounded the desk. He leaned on his desk and stared at the floor for a couple seconds. Then, he said, "Okay. We can work a joint investigation. However, any evidence pertaining to Goren, I'll handle it along with Barek. You and Logan focus on everything else. Look at other possibilities. Am I understood?"

"Yes," she answered after glancing over at Logan. "Thank you."

"Don't thank me yet. If I think there's even a remote possibility that Goren was actually in that warehouse during the time of the murder, I'm taking it over."

Alex gave a nod before she left the office along with Logan.

"Come on," Logan said as he picked up his laptop and the reports he had started. "We'll go to a conference room and finish up."

Too tired to argue, she looked over at Barek who was still hard at work on the laptop before following Logan.

* * *

_Bobby & Alex's Apartment_

Entering the apartment, Alex took in a deep breath and shut the door behind her. Leaning her back against the door, she closed her eyes as the weight of the day set in. She didn't know what to think of it or how to feel about any of it. It was all making her head hurt. Pushing off the door, she walked into the kitchen and got rid of her coat and purse. Going over to a cabinet, she took out the bottle or red wine she had and filled a glass.

Walking into the living and looking around at all her furniture in Bobby's apartment, she felt empty. She felt as if a part of her was missing. And it was. Bobby was missing. The man who helped to heal the wounds left in her from Joe's death was out there without her.

The man who had giving his home over to her in her time of need was no longer there to fill it with his energy or his silence. Bobby helped to make this truly her home. Her home was with him. Wherever they physically lived, either together or apart, she felt the most at home in his presence.

Stopping in front of the bookcase, she took in the few photos she actually had of him and smiled as she picked up her favorite. It had been taken at a crime scene of all places. They had been called out to Central Park last winter and were waiting around for Rodgers to get done with the body. A CSI friend of hers, Erica was testing her camera when she had captured the two of them letting out a little frustration. Bobby had been teasing her about her scarf while she was making fun of his wool cap. The teasing jabs had escalated until he grabbed her scarf, pulling it up to her nose while she grabbed his wool cap and pulled it down over his eyes. It had worked to defuse the actual fight they had just hours before in the squad room.

Biting back a sob with her soft laughter, she put the picture back as she took a big gulp of the wine and headed for the bedroom. She sat the glass down as she took off her blouse and then her tank-top, tossing them both onto the bed. Going over the dresser, she took out some clean clothes and went to take a shower.

Nearly an hour later, as she was massaging lotion over her arms and legs, she spotted the difference. When she had looked to check the time on Bobby's alarm clock, she noticed his watch missing. Sitting up in bed, she stared at the spot where it had been sitting untouched since he Saturday as her thoughts raced.

Looking around the room, nothing else seemed to be missing. Getting up, she checked the closet and then the dresser. Some of Bobby's clothes were missing. She hurried down the hall and pushed open the door to the study. The blanket that had been on the back of the couch was balled up at one end of the couch.

Bobby had been there. He had found out where he lived. Alex felt her heart racing as she left the study to get her cell phone. She was in such a rushed panic of excitement that she didn't notice him until he cleared his throat.

Alex jumped, dropping the cell phone to the counter as she turned. At seeing him sitting in the kitchen, at the table like always, she breathlessly spoke, "Bobby?"

He slightly tensed as he leaned forward in the chair and then calmly said, "You left the door unlocked."

Alex looked to the backdoor and then at him. "I did, didn't I." Looking him over, she didn't see anything physically wrong with him except for a small cut on his lip. Looking down at the floor, she saw her cell. As she bent to get it, she saw that he braced himself while eyeing the phone in her hands.

She didn't know what to say but his tension and sudden look of fear put her on edge. She responded by holding up her hands as she told him, "It's okay, Bobby. I'm not…" she trailed off as she steadied herself. She could see the emotions in his eyes, she could see the battle with whether to trust her or not. He was taking a big step coming there. "I'm not going to hurt you," she finished.

He took a breath as he willed himself to calm down. Looking to the floor, he rubbed a hand over his eyes as he gave a nod. Peering up at her, he cleared his throat and asked, "Can I have something to drink?"

Eames smiled a little as she gave a nod. That meant he wanted to stay. "Of course. I can put coffee on." He watched her as she prepared the machine and started it. While she waited for it to brew, she said, "You were here earlier. I saw your watch gone, and some clothes."

Bobby only looked at her as he gave a curt nod.

Alex didn't know what to feel about his silence. Maybe he wasn't expecting her to find him there again tonight. "When was that?"

"Last night. I slept in the, uh…in the study."

"I never go in there," she told him.

"Why not?"

Alex took down a mug and filled it while answering, "It's yours." She grabbed the creamer and went to open it.

"No cream…thanks."

She looked over at him with a weird look but sat the creamer down. Taking the mug to him, she handed it over to him. He took it from her hands, barely touching her hand. Alex had to will herself to not reach out to touch him as she drew away to fix herself a cup.

"What's the matter?"

Alex stopped and turned back around to face him. "I…I just wanted to tell you that I've missed you."

Bobby looked away from her at hearing that and took a sip of the coffee. He gave her no return feeling that he'd missed her too.

She made herself a cup and sat down across from him; it was the closest she'd been to him for days. "You don't drink black coffee. Not unless it's four in the morning and we're at a crime scene. Or if we're interviewing a suspect and you know you're not going to finish it."

Bobby looked back down at the table and took a few more sips of the black coffee. Alex didn't know how to take that sudden change in him. When she was reading over Bobby's books and doing her own research on people with amnesia, she had read peoples sudden changes. They would have different habits or tastes in food, and even drastic changes in personality and behavior. There was one case study of a man who had suffered the same type of amnesia as Bobby, and he had changed so much from his previous self that he had quit his job and remarried a different woman.

She wondered if Bobby would change, and if so, how.

"Did, uh…did we, or…one of us recently move in here?"

Eames spotted the box he was looking at and she hesitated in saying, "I'm packing."

He looked over at her as he asked, "You're moving? Did we break up?"

"No," she quickly reassured him. "It's not like that. We had agreed that things we easier when we lived apart. That's all."

Shifting in the chair, he stared at her until he seemed satisfied. "Okay," he told her as he took another drink of the coffee.

Relaxing a little when he didn't ask anything else about it, she told him, "I know you're confused, and that you probably don't know what to believe, but I would never lie to you, Bobby."

She wanted him to believe her. There was no reason for him not to, but looked reluctant in doing so. Alex knew that it wasn't just her. That Bobby had a hard time believing anybody because of his trust issues, but she hoped that even despite his lack of memory, that he would see that she was being honest.

Bobby leaned forward as he told her, "If you want me to believe you, then…then I want you to tell me why I'm wanted by the police. I don't want some cryptic answer either. I want the truth. I deserve that."

Alex let out a deep breath and gave a slight nod. She had been avoiding his questions because she didn't know how to tell him. And, she was hoping that he would come in so she could do it in a much more formal setting where she could present evidence to him in order to back up her claims. Deciding to be blunt, she flat out told him, "You're wanted for questioning in the death of a seventeen year old named Caleb Cunningham."

Instead of looking shocked or surprised by that information, he simply asked her, "The police think I murdered someone?"

"You didn't do it," she stressed to him.

"But the police think I did," he said a little too sternly.

Alex saw the anger clouding his eyes. It caused her to tense slightly in preparation for a fight as she explained, "If the police thought you did, there would be a bigger manhunt, believe me."

"You told me yesterday that the DA thought I was claiming amnesia for a defense," he told her. "That tells me that the State has already made up their minds."

She was getting impatient with his refusal to believe her. Out of habit and nervous reaction, she rubbed her head as she looked over at him. "Even when you have no memory, you're still you," she said that with a soft smile. "Yes, you're right. They want to indict, but that's all it is at this point. The DA has to take it to the Grand Jury to see if he can even take this to trial. I doubt they'll do it since there is absolutely no evidence other than the word of one police officer."

Alex wanted to tell him about the evidence Deakins and Barek had concerning his innocence but it was an open investigation and she knew she couldn't. She wasn't even supposed to know about it but Barek had to fully disclose everything they had once Deakins declared that they would be working together on a joint investigation.

"And what was his word? What did he see?"

She was getting more frustrated and that seemed to anger Bobby more when she hesitated in answering again.

"Am I being an inconvenience here, detective?" Bobby suddenly snapped. "I'm sorry I can't remember but this is my life and the more you hold back-"

"I'm trying to protect you," she sternly told him.

"Protect me? How can you protect me when I don't even know what you're talking about!" he snapped as he hit the table. "Don't you think it's better for me to know now than after I'm arrested?"

"Bobby, you need to calm down. This isn't easy-"

"And you keep calling me Bobby like I'm supposed to respond to that name. You know what I feel when I hear you call me that? Nothing. I don't know who this Bobby person is. I don't know what he's supposed to feel or think or how he would react. All I have is-is…is this overwhelming need to know what's happening to my life. All I want is the fucking truth. All of it. I need to know something. Can you give me that? Because if you can't then I'm walking out. I'll leave." When she only stared at him in shock and disbelief, he smacked the table again and stood up.

"Bob-…just wait," she said as she got up with him. "If you don't want me to call you Bobby, that's fine. But I've got to call you something."

"Just call me Robert, okay," he told her. "For right now, I'm used to that."

"Okay," she said as she wrestled with his sudden outburst. She was used to his anger, but for him to demand her to not call him 'Bobby' was worrying her. She didn't know how to take that, or any of this. The last thing she wanted him to do was to leave, so she asked, "What do you want to know? I answered why you're wanted. What else?"

He started pacing around the kitchen, rubbing at his neck. "All right, that uh, that picture in there of-of you and the boy…Is-is, is he ours?"

Alex nearly gapped at him by that question. Then, that was when it happened. The reality of the situation, and the extent of his memory loss fully hit her. Bobby had no idea. Tears welled in her eyes as she shook her head, telling him, "No. That's my nephew. I was a surrogate for my sister."

"Was that so hard?" he asked as he stopped pacing and crossed his arms. "Now, what did the cop say that he saw?"

She let out a breath and shook her head, telling him, "He said that he saw you enter a hospital room where Caleb was being held. That you told him to take a smoke break so that you were alone with him. When he returned from the smoke break, that you told him that he should call a nurse because Caleb busted a stitch. The cop waved down a passing nurse who entered the room. Then the alarm sounded and the nurse came out telling him that Caleb was dead. You were the last person, besides the nurse, to have seen him before he died."

He listened to what she said and he shook his head after she was done. "I did it."

"No-"

"There's no other explanation."

"Bob-" she cut herself off as she stopped herself. There was no way she would ever get used to calling him Robert. "You didn't. We have reason to believe that the nurse was an old enemy of yours; a woman named Nicole Wallace. She's a sociopath and a killer. She's the one who did it. We also have reason to believe that she was the one responsible for your disappearance. We found your car and a needle that was left in it. That's her weapon of choice, poisons."

There was a look in his eyes, one of recognition at the mention of Nicole's name. Instead of demanding more out of her, he actually smirked slightly. Giving a nod, he picked up the cup and downed the rest of the coffee. He picked up the suede black jacket that was over the back of the chair he'd been sitting in and slipped it on.

"Are you leaving?"

He adjusted the collar as he gave a nod.

Alex no longer held back as she rushed to him, putting her hand on his as he went to zip the jacket up. Bobby braced him as he looked down at her with conflicted dark eyes. Reaching up, and ignoring the warning as he tensed, she cupped his jaw. "Bobby-"

His sudden jerk as he stepped back while grabbing her hand surprised her. The grip was hard on her hand as he held it away from his face that quivered. Alex couldn't tell why he was shaking, but his eyes grew darker as he pushed her slightly away. She didn't know what to do as she caught herself while staring stunned at him.

Clearing his throat again, he told her in a soft, shaky voice, "I got another cell phone. I'll give you a call." He then turned and opened the door.

"Bobby! Wait, where are you going?"

"Keep your phone on, detective," he told her before he pulled on a wool cap and started down the alleyway with his hands stuffed in his pockets.

TBC…

PS: What happened with Bobby and Nicole? All that will be answered in the next coming chapters. Be patient everyone, trying to build this story is taking some time in getting it right. And writing a Bobby/Nicole interaction is tough work.


	8. Number One Suspect

A/N: Thanks for the reviews! Sorry for the delay, but I decided to re-write this chapter and it took a while to get it done.

Enjoy!

* * *

_Corner of Fulton Street/Hendrix Avenue_

_Cypress Hills, Brooklyn_

The apartment he was searching for was situated above a drycleaners and right next to an elevated subway track. As the 'J' train passed overhead, he nervously paced on the corner as he smoked a cigarette. He was out of options with places to go and the address book he had was as thick as a phone book. Robert Goren knew a lot of people, and there were a lot of names and numbers and addresses to choose from; however, he didn't know who anybody was nor their relation to him. All except for one.

Out of all the names in the book, only one had the same last name as himself. And from the many numbers erased and addresses scratched out and replaced, he figured that his brother moved around a lot. That was something he'd found out today, that he had a brother. It was exciting to know he had someone, a family member, since there had been no indication of that in his home. His mother was still alive, but currently upstate and in an institution. So, she would be little help to him, but hopefully his brother would be.

Finally ridding himself of his nerves and gathering some courage, he opened the door that led to the apartments above the store. A couple of men were standing on the steps and as he walked in they both turned and stared hard at him. He knew immediately that they were dealers but didn't act like he cared, because he really didn't, as he started for them. Keeping his eyes on the floor, he pushed his way past one of them and started up the stairs to the third, and top, floor.

On the third floor landing, a couple of kids, boys, were hanging out and passing a cigarette and beer bottle back-and-forth between the two of them. They looked no older than twelve years old. He caught their eyes and saw a painfully dark look in both of their eyes, like they'd seen way too much at such young ages. He thought about taking the contraband from them but knew that they would only steal more, so he let them be as he headed down the hall in search of the apartment.

There were sounds from a television blaring through the walls of one apartment and hip-hop music from another as he got closer to the end of the hall. Coming upon a door on his left, he saw a woman leaning against the frame and looking him up and down from head-to-toe.

She smiled seductively at him as he got closer. "Lookin' for a good time, honey." He didn't answer her as he walked on by. "Your loss," she called back at him before yelling down the hallway. "Jeremy! Ya okay?"

"Yeah, ma!"

He looked back at her and realized she was one of the boy's mother. She turned back to him and gave him another look so he turned around and kept walking. The next door was the one he'd been looking for. As he reached up to knock, he heard the woman.

"Ya know Frank?"

Giving a hard knock on the door, he glanced over at the woman as he asked, "Is he here?"

"Should be." She leaned on the frame again as she eyed him. "Wha'd ya want with him?"

Turning to fully look at her, he said, "That's none of your business, now is it."

"He's a friend, and since he's been here I ain't never seen you around before. He owe you money?"

He wondered why she would ask him that just as he heard the lock turn and a chain fall against the door. It opened and he saw a man standing on the other side. He was nearly as tall as him, skinner, and staring at him with blue eyes. However, the look was one of familiarization.

"Bobby, what're you doing here?" the man asked after a brief moment of staring at one another.

"Frank…?" he said in a near question and hoped that he didn't catch it, but he had.

Frank's eyes grew suspicious as he said slightly, "Yeah, come in."

Taking one last glance at the woman down the hall, he stepped into the apartment. After one quick glance around the living room, he didn't have to wonder about that 'owe money' comment any longer. There was hardly any furniture and what was there was used, worn down, and covered in either clothes, papers or magazines or junk mail, or dirty dishes and take-out boxes.

"Sorry for the mess, I've been busy, you know. Working and everything."

Looking at Frank, he gave a nod as he said, "Doing what?"

Frank seemed to be offended and angered by that question as he said, "Is that what you came here for, to know what I'm doing? I'm working."

Not understanding where the bitterness was coming from, he backed away as he felt threatened. "I wasn't trying to start anything. I was…I was curious, that's all."

"So what is it?" Frank asked as he didn't make any move to invite him further into his apartment or to have a seat or anything. He didn't even ask him how he was.

"What's what?"

Frank glared at him as he said, "Why are you here, Bobby? The last time we talked you were pissed at me."

He wasn't sure what to expect when he came here, but this hostility wasn't exactly it. "I want to talk. Can we do that…can we, talk, Frank?" When he didn't get an answer, he gestured to the kitchen, asking, "You got any coffee?"

Frank looked toward the kitchen as if he was trying to see if he did. After a moment, he said, "It's instant."

"That's fine. I'll get it," he told him as he started for it.

"No," Frank interrupted as he moved in front of him. "I'll get it. Just…here," he said as he picked up a pile of clothes off the couch. "Have a seat," he told him before carrying the clothes into the bedroom. He tossed them on the bed before coming back out, and shutting the bedroom door behind him. "I moved in a month ago and I'm still unpacking."

"It's okay, thanks." He watched as Frank went into the kitchen before sitting down and taking out the pack of cigarettes.

Digging around his coat for his lighter, he pulled it out and lit up the cigarette as he looked over the small apartment. There was an old television sitting across the room sitting on top of a dresser. A few photos were taped or tacked to the wall in various spots; he got up and walked over the wall to get a closer look. One of the photos was of a woman with two boys standing in front of her; all were smiling except for one of the boys who only stared at the camera. The woman looked young in the picture but from the hair-styles and outfits worn, he knew it was dating back to the sixties.

She was their mother, and she looked beautiful. Another picture was of two men, one a teenager and the other was older, caught in a candid moment. The teen boy was sitting on a staircase in what appeared to be a backyard. The man was in shorts and a shirt, barefoot, and in the middle of speaking at he was gesturing to a motorcycle that sat in front of them. He could tell that the teen boy appeared to be Frank, and the other, from his height and age, was most likely their father.

"I don't know how you take it."

Turning away from the photos, he saw Frank coming toward him with the cup. He offered his thanks as he took it from him. As he stood standing, Frank sat heavily on the couch. In an overflowing ashtray on the coffee table, he picked up a half-burnt cigarette and re-lit it as he sat back.

Eying him from the couch, Frank said, "I didn't think you smoked anymore."

Shifting around, he shrugged a little as he said, "I'm not quite sure what I do anymore." He grew silent as he took a sip of the coffee and grimaced in disgust. Hoping the cigarette would easy the taste, he took a long drag off it and choked out a cough. Nope, that only made it worse. "This tastes like shit."

Frank chuckled a little as he rubbed over his hair. "Told you it was instant, you despise that stuff. You said once that drinking it reminded you too much of the Army, having to drink months old instant coffee on freezing nights in Korea, or some shit like that."

Staring down into the cup, he fought through the dark emptiness of his mind for some connection, for any memory or feeling of familiarity. When he came up empty, he felt the loss all over again. It sunk his heart even further down into the lonely pit; and it burned. It burned with hate and misery…The pain of not remembering his life was becoming too much.

"You're looking pale. You're not going to be sick, are you?"

Shaking his head, he walked back over the couch and sat down beside Frank. There was no connection between them. He couldn't even think to call the man his brother because Frank didn't feel like his brother. He had no memories of their life together, or of their childhood. What their relationship was like, he didn't know, but from the greeting he had with him at the door, he figured that they were at odds with one another. That maybe, even with a memory, it would be hard to call that man his brother.

Pushing down his groan of distaste, he took another swallow of the horrible coffee before setting it on the table, next to the overflowing ashtray and a bottle of prescription pills without the prescription label. He picked them up and shook it as Frank reached over and snatched it out of his hand. It didn't take a detective to know that Frank didn't have a prescription for whatever it was in the bottle. It also didn't take a detective to see that his brother had a problem. Or, multiple problems.

Deciding not to voice his suspicions, he asked instead, "Have you seen the news?"

Frank shook his head as he looked over at him. "I try to avoid it."

Smiling slightly, he should have expected that answer. People in the kind-of neighborhood Frank lived in didn't watch the news very often. "I'm uh…" he trailed off as he tried to focus his thoughts and how he was going to explain everything to Frank. Having to trust someone, and needing so answers, he knew he had to drop his guard. He just didn't know if this man was the one to do that with. "I'm in need of someplace to stay," he said instead.

Frank was taken back by that as he looked at him, confused. "And you want to stay with me?" he asked surprised.

"Why not?" he asked with a shrug. "You're my brother."

"Yea, but…What about your friends. I mean, you still have that friend of yours…Lewis. Can't you stay with him?"

He remembered seeing that name in the address book but didn't know who the man was. And from the address in the book, it had only appeared that this Lewis guy was his mechanic.

A sudden rumble shook the walls, vibrated the floors, and bounced the coffee cup over the table. Quickly grabbing it before it could tumble over, he waited out the passing of the subway train as it sped by the window. Seconds later the rumbling stopped and he could hear car alarms annoyingly blaring from the street below.

Looking over at Frank, he saw him sipping on his cup like nothing had just happened. "How often?"

"Every hour or so."

"Jesus," he sighed and started to laugh a little. "Why'd you move here?"

"It was cheap." Frank started laughing himself. "I only found out after I moved in why it was such a great bargain."

"Let me stay, just for the night. Then, I'll talk to Lewis tomorrow." He waited expectantly and Frank finally gave a nod. Smiling a little, he said, "Thanks."

"You didn't really expect me to say no, did ya? You're my little brother," Frank looked him over and then said, "Well, not that little anymore. You keep putting on weight you're going to start looking like our uncle."

"Which Uncle is that?" he asked.

"Mom's brother…" Frank gave him a weird look as he stood up. "Roberto, you know, the guy you're named after," he said matter-of-factly like he was an idiot for not knowing.

"I look like him," he genuinely asked because he was curious.

Frank gave a slight shrug as he headed to the kitchen. "A little, especially now that you're older, and bigger," he teased as he disappeared around the corner.

He quickly finished off the coffee as he stood to follow Frank into the kitchen when there was a knock on the door. Turning towards it, he called out, "I'll get it."

"Bobby, wait," Frank called out as he hurried into the room.

Having been closer, he was already at the door and looking through the peephole as Frank came up beside him. There was a man one the other side who he recognized as one of the dealers from downstairs. Blinking back at the door, he turned to Frank and pointed to the door as he grabbed the handle. "I got it."

"It's my house, Bobby, c'mon on, let me-"

"No, no, I got it," he said again as he push Frank out of the way and unlocked the door. He opened it and stared at the man for a few seconds before telling him, "He's good tonight, alright. Come back next week." The man went to speak when he shut the door in his face and locked it. Turning to Frank, he told him, "While I'm here, you're staying sober, unless it's beer. Got it."

Frank looked pissed as hell as he stepped up to him. "This is my house so why don't you just leave, Bobby!" he suddenly snapped as he pointed toward the door. "You're obviously in trouble if you want to stay here."

"Calm down-"

Frank went over to the TV and turned it on as he told him, "Let's see what's on the news."

Stalking over the wall, he yanked the chord out of the outlet. "I said to calm down, Frank."

"Stop telling me what to do!" he shouted as he tried to grab the chord from his hand. When Frank couldn't get it he pushed him hard in the chest but barely moved him as he said, "You're always doing this!"

"Doing what?" he asked in both anger and confusion.

"This!" Frank said as he gestured between them. "You're always trying to control my life for me. Yeah, so I get high. Big deal, but it's my life, asshole. You can't just come here and try to tell me who I should be friends with or what to do! Okay! Why don't you go back to your perfect fucking life and leave mine alone!"

Staring hard at this man before him, he felt the urge to hit him. And the urge wasn't due to the fact that he was yelling at him, and accusing him of interfering with his life, but for the simple fact that he called his life perfect. Why was that one statement so infuriating to him, but not all the others?

It didn't matter. What mattered was that he no longer wanted this man's help with anything. Shoving the chord into his chest, he pushed him back until the television fell off the dresser. At the sound of the television busting on the floor, Frank was falling over the coffee table. It wasn't until then that he realized what he'd done and why. He was so enraged, he felt like pulling Frank just to push him down all over again.

And from the look in Frank's eyes, this hadn't been the first time he'd lost his temper with him. It almost looked expected.

Swallowing the tight lump in his throat, he gravely asked, "I always lose my temper like this?"

Frank shivered below him as he covered his head with his arm. Taking a couple of deep breaths, he looked up at him, saying, "Not always, but enough…and usually it's with me. At least you didn't hit me this time."

It took him a good half minute to finally walk away; he stepped over the broken TV on the floor and headed to the door. He didn't say anything as he unlocked the door and left.

* * *

'_J' Subway Train_

_Brooklyn into Manhattan_

As the train cruised over the streets of Brooklyn and then over the river into Manhattan, he pulled the notepad from his jacket pocket and started re-reading.

After his run in with the woman named Nicole Wallace, he had done his research. He went to the same library in Brooklyn and with the help of Melanie was able to gather some information. All he'd gotten from his extensive research was that Nicole had been accused of crimes but never convicted. That was why he had gone to see Eames.

It hadn't been to just to let her know he was okay, but to get information. He had figured Nicole was trouble, but he didn't think she was a killer. And now, with the added information that she was big on poisons, he wondered if she had poisoned him.

He was tired of being left in the dark, of feeling blind in the world he lived in. It was the worst feeling in the world to not be able to trust ones own mind.

Taking out a pen, he flipped to a blank page and started writing. It didn't take long before the pages were filled of his thoughts, the information he'd found about Nicole, about Frank, and of a timeline he'd been able to trace of his own life. He tried to piece some things together but he was still lacking facts.

There were still too many questions running around his head and not enough answers. He felt himself coming to a stand-still in his head with no where to go. The steps to take were blurring as he tried to foresee the coming storm.

And there would be a storm.

He felt the dark clouds on the horizon and knew that this feeling was a warning. From what Eames had told him, he could have very well killed Caleb. And then from his explosive anger with Frank not long ago…The rage he'd felt was frightening. That thought sent a tremor through him as he thought about what Nicole had told him earlier that day.

The conversation he had with her was like playing a game of chess, a lot of give and take, a lot of well-thought out strategic moves being planned. Through it all, he couldn't help the thought that it had been fun, exciting, and the feeling that he'd done it many times before.

"_You haven't told me what the nature of our, _relationship_, is," he said as they headed toward the subway._

_Nicole had offered to drive him, but he refused. The one person he felt he could trust so far was Detective Eames. However, because Eames's lack in telling him everything that was going on, it was hard for him to put himself in her hands. He knew she was on his side, but where exactly was that line?_

"_The nature of our relationship has been quite complicated."_

_He looked over at her as they approached the staircase that led down into the tunnel. "That didn't answer my question."_

"_Yes it did."_

_The smirk that formed on his face couldn't be helped. For some reason, it was strangely exciting. He paid for his fare along with hers even though he didn't think she was actually going to get on the subway, before pushing through the turnstile. She was right behind him as he ventured over to a vendor and bought a bottle of water._

_After he took a sip of the water, he asked, "Are you the one who did this to me?"_

_Nicole seemed taken back by that blunt question. He saw the slight twinkle in her eyes and the quirk of her lips, like she'd been caught and was deeply amused by it. "I didn't do anything to you, except…"_

_He waited her out as she tried to bait him. Despite his own weird feeling of excitement, he was getting frustrated. He needed answers, and just like Eames, this woman was leading him around in circles. When he started to shift from one foot to the other, nearly squirming under her gaze, she finally smiled slightly. "You enjoy seeing me squirm, don't you?"_

"_It's not very often when I get to see the stoic become unhinged."_

_The stoic…Was that what he'd been like before? Or was it only with her? Taking a sip of the drink, he looked down the tracks and saw a faint light coming. "Except what?" he finally asked._

"_Except try to help you, of course."_

_She was just as bad as Eames with not answering him directly. Feeling irritated, he said, "We don't have much time. You need to get to the point. Why did you come to me? Why expose yourself now?"_

"_My, my, I just love it when you're confused and bitter. I told you, I want to help you, Bob-," she caught herself and gave him a smile. "Robert."_

"_Help me to do what?"_

"_To learn the truth of who you are. You don't remember but we were rudely interrupted the last time. I don't like interruptions."_

"_How did it happen?"_

_With a weary smile, she simply answered, "Competition happened. Don't worry, love, we no longer need to worry about that; I took care of it."_

_He stared down at her for a long moment as he tried to focus on her, her tells, and what she was actually telling him. He didn't know why, but he felt that she spoke in cryptic tones that had to be deciphered. The problem was he didn't understand the code or language used._

"_Here," she said as she pulled out a phone and handed it to him. "That other one is currently being tracked. If you wanted to stay hidden, Robert, you should've never used it to call a cop."_

_The train screeched to a stop beside him as he took the offered phone. "And this isn't going to be?"_

"_Never. I made sure of that. I, unlike you, have never been found once on the run." She gave him a cheeky smile as she started to walk backwards into the crowd. "Smart move, by the way."_

_Before she could get too far, he pulled up the phone and took a quick picture of her. _"_What was?" he asked._

_Nicole scowled at him for taking her picture, but kept walking as she told him, "Hiding in plain sight. No one notices anybody in this city," she told him that before turning around and disappearing into the crowd that was pushing around him to get on the train._

The jolt of the train forward brought him back to the present as he pocketed the notepad and pen. It wasn't his stop so he remained seated as a couple of people got on and sat down. Once the train was moving again, he looked around the train and spotted a transit officer glancing his way. The man was a young guy and looked like he hadn't been on the job long. The fear mixed with anticipation in his dark brown eyes gave that away. It was a look of inexperience.

When the transit officer turned his head away from his, he got up and started moving down the subway car. Glancing over his shoulder, he saw the officer speaking into his radio. Feeling a spark of panic in his chest, he pulled open the door and stepped through it into the next car. He kept going, not too fast to cause alarm, but not slow enough to have the officer come up behind him unexpectedly.

Feeling the train slowing, he gripped the overhead bar by a door and glanced back to see the officer walking through the doors from the last car. Once the doors opened he got off and immediately headed to the stairs. Knowing he didn't have long before a patrol car got to the entrance, once he hit the staircase going up to the street, he bolted.

"Hey, stop!" the transit officer yelled out.

Not stopping, and really not knowing why, he kept running. He hit the pavement of the sidewalk and darted out across the street as a couple of taxis braked and car horns erupted in his ears. There was no reason to look back as he knew he was being chased as he turned down a dark alley between two buildings.

The freezing air was burning his lungs as he pushed through a gate and slammed it behind him. As he did so, he turned slightly and caught sight of the officer giving chase about fifty yards behind him. Through the walls of the brick building he could hear a thumping sound, like a bass guitar, beating through the walls and around the alley.

Sliding on a patch of ice as he rounded a corner, he nearly fell but caught himself on the dumpster as he found his footing and kept going. A second later he heard a yell and then a bang into the dumpster. The officer must have hit the ice too but was unable to catch himself.

There was a fence in front of him and no way through it but over it. He leaped up and caught the top of it and pulled himself up but instead of jumping over it, he reached toward the fire escape as he stepped up on top of the fence and pushed himself up. He caught the top rail with both hands and pulled himself up the ladder until he got his foot on the last rung.

Looking back down, he saw the officer on the radio as he limped toward the fence. Huffing out a breath or air, he scaled over the railing and then headed up the fire escape. The roofs were worse than down on the streets as the cold wind stung his face as he took off the wool cap and tossed it. Then he transferred everything that was in his jacket pockets to his pants before tossing the jacket as well. The Yankees ball cap had been shoved down in the inside jacket pocket so he pulled it on before covering it with the hood of the hooded sweatshirt he'd been wearing.

He scaled over several rooftops before jumping down onto another fire escape. The sirens were scattered over the streets and he saw the red and blue lights as he dropped down into an vacant lot. Stuffing his hands into his pockets, he lit up a cigarette as he walked across the lot. There was a construction fence up, separating the lot from the street so he couldn't been seen as he made his way to the street.

There was a padlock and chain on the gated fence but whoever locked it up last left enough gap in the chain to push the gate open and get out. He had to maneuver around it and suck in his gut but he was able to get through the gap and stumble onto the sidewalk. The sirens were getting closer so he stopped and bought a paper at a newsstand. If he started to run, that would give him away. All he had to do now was act normal.

A couple of feet down on the corner was a vendor selling hot pretzels and coffee. So he stopped and got him both before looking both ways to cross the street. There was a bus stop with a bench so he sat down as the cop car turned the corner and slowed to search the street.

Pulling out the cell phone, he made a call as he watched the car out of the corner of his eye. As he listened to the ringing, he felt the anticipation of her voice. He couldn't explain it, but her voice felt like a lifeline. The only light he had in this dark world that made no sense to him. Her voice was helping him to hold onto any sense of hope in finding out the truth…In finding himself.

On the sixth ring, she answered, "Hello?"

"If I'm just a person of interest then why are the cops willing to chase after me?" She was silent for a long moment. He felt her hesitation and it angered him once again. "I thought we were over this, detective."

"Why were you running?" she asked instead which made his jaw tighten.

"Because I felt I had to. Is there a warrant out?" Again, she was silent and he got his answer. It hadn't taken him long to understand that her silence meant that what he said was right. "Why?"

"There was another murder," she finally told him

Those words hit him hard as he stared at the patrol car creeping along the street, getting closer to the bus stop. "Let me guess…I'm the number one suspect." When she didn't speak, he gave a nod. "You know, Eames…your silence speaks louder than words." then as the cop car passed him and continued on, he asked, "Should I turn myself in?"

"That would be the smart thing to do, Bobby."

He didn't feel like correcting her on the name, but he had heard her tone. She had more to say. "But?"

"But nothing. I know you, you'll do the right thing. Running-"

"No, detective, you used to know me. How can you know a man who doesn't even know himself?"

She was quiet for a moment before telling him, "Because, despite your lack of memory, you're still you. You still think like a cop."

At hearing that, he felt a smile twist his lips. Well, she had him there. "You're right, I do, but…As of right now, I'm not a cop. I don't know what I am, I don't know who I am, and running…As long as I'm out here, I can do something. If I'm locked up, I can't defend myself."

"Then come to me. I can help defend you."

"Only if you promise not to keep anything from me."

"I don't know if-"

"I can't trust you, Eames, if you continue to keep things from me. You want me to meet with you? How do I know there won't be a swarm of cops or that other detective there, waiting like last time."

She sighed heavily and he knew he was putting her in a tough spot, between a rock and a hard place. Between her job and him. "I'm sorry about that. It wasn't my call. If you meet me tomorrow, I promise you it'll be just me and you this time."

Taking a moment to think about it, he finally agreed, "Okay, tomorrow. At 9 am I'll call and tell you when and where."

"Okay."

"Oh, and uh, one more thing…What number came up when I called?"

Without a moments pause, she answered, "It didn't. It came up blocked. I almost didn't answer."

He thought that over and wondered why Nicole, a sociopath that was his enemy, would be trying to help him. It didn't make any sense. "Good night, Eames."

He hung up the phone and stuffed it into his pocket. Taking a bite of the pretzel, he got up off the cold bench and started down the street, back the way he'd come. The cops would continue canvassing the area so he continued along Canal Street, toward the subway entrance.

That entrance was a lot busier than the one in Brooklyn as he pushed through several groups of people while heading toward the platform for the number 6 subway train. Once on the train, he opened the paper and kept his head down as it sped along the tracks under Manhattan and into the Bronx.

TBC…


	9. Boyfriend

A/N: Thanks for the reviews!

Enjoy!

* * *

_Royal Motel_

_Melrose, Bronx_

The Royal Motel was located between a car service called 'Uptown' and an automotive repair shop and right across the street from a building construction warehouse that sold, according to the sign, lumber and building materials; and at one in the morning, they were all deserted, giving the street an eerie stillness that made him take a quick glance over his shoulder every couple of feet.

Graffiti from the local gang decorated the steal door that he opened for the motel. Stepping inside, he felt the hot whiff of air coming from the vents. There was a man behind the desk who hadn't been there a few days ago. The man looked up from the sandwich he was eating while talking on the phone.

At seeing him, the man spoke into the phone, "I'll call you back, I got a customer." He hung up the phone as he asked, "Is it just you?"

He walked up to the desk and gave a curt nod as he looked around. "Yeah." The TV in the corner was on, showing highlights from a college basketball game, but the sound was muted.

"For how long?" the man asked as he grabbed a receipt book and started to fill out the date and time.

"Just for the night. I, uh, I was here a few days ago...over the weekend."

"Oh, yeah," he said. "Cash or credit?"

"Cash." He gestured to the receipt book, saying, "I was with a woman...she paid. And, well, its just I was out of it. I didn't plan on it, but we came back here and next thing I know, she's gone and I'm left without a name...or number."

The man smiled a little as he told him, "I'm gonna need your name and number before I give you hers, pal. And I'll need to see some ID."

Taking out his newly bought wallet, he said, "I didn't have to show ID last time."

"Last time I wasn't here and you weren't after my receipts."

He pulled out his ID card as well as a hundred dollar bill. Handing the man both, he took his ID back before the man even glanced at it and the receipt book that was passed over to him. Instead of filling out the information for the room, he flipped through it until he came upon the receipt he was looking for.

It was dated for Saturday the 19th, paid in cash for three days, and even though the name was fake he hoped the phone number wasn't. He took out his pen and notepad and wrote it down while saying, "The woman who was here on Monday working, she told me that since the room was paid in cash that there was no receipt."

"Yea, Teresa's like that," the man said with a snide smirk. "She's got an attitude with anyone who has dick. She probably wouldn't have given it to you for anything less than a thousand while making you declare what a chauvinistic pig you are." He gave a huff of a laugh while saying, "She probably wouldn't have even told you if you were a cop."

"I take it that most men who come here, it's to cheat."

"Among many others. Take a look around pal, this isn't Times Square. There's no reason for a motel here except to lure in the filth off the streets. No offense."

"None taken. When's Teresa's next day on?"

"She'll be here in the morning, around six."

Giving a nod and taking out a fifty, he tossed that down as he said, "I'm going to need that room."

* * *

_Bobby & Alex's Apartment_

She couldn't sleep; kicking the sheet off her hot body, she got out of bed and headed down the hall. The apartment was hot and stuffy as the steam rolled of the radiator. She turned it off before going into the kitchen. Taking out a bottle of water, she downed it before grabbing another.

Usually she didn't get this hot. She used to sleep peacefully with the heat on, curled up under the sheet and blanket, and with Bobby right up against her. She hadn't been able to sleep that peaceful in days. No matter what, something bothered her. It was either too hot or too cold, or too much room, or it was too quiet, or...anything and everything.

The real reason was that the bed was empty; Bobby wasn't there. He made it comfortable, safe, and warm. Without him there she didn't feel as if this was her home. She felt like an intruder. As she looked around the kitchen, and out into the living room, she realized what Bobby must have felt when she moved in. This wasn't hers, and it could never be theirs, because it was his.

Bobby had been right. This was his home, his sanctuary, and she had invaded it. She had been glad that she decided to move out, but now she wondered if she should still go ahead with it.

What if Bobby needed her there? Then again, what if Bobby no longer wanted her there? Those questions pained her, worried her, and was the reason why it was so damn hard to sleep at night.

But above all, she simply missed her boyfriend.

Taking the bottle water with her to the bedroom, she drunk it while getting dressed. It was after one in the morning, but she needed to get out. It didn't take long before she was zipping up her coat, grabbing her car keys, and leaving.

The streets were dark and empty due to the bitter cold that had settled in the region. In a few days they were expecting more snow and from the sounds of it, it was going to be worse than the one from last year. Keeping her mind and eyes focuses on the task of driving, she able to push her troubling thoughts to bay until she was over the bridge and parked in front of the little one-stories house.

She should have called first, she thought as she walked up to the front door and knocked. After a couple of long seconds, she pulled out her set of keys when the porch light flicked on. She smiled weakly toward the peephole as the locks turned and door opened.

Terry was standing shirtless in front of her as he asked, "Alex are you okay? It's late."

"I'm-" she cut herself off before she could tell him that she was fine. If she was fine she wouldn't have been there at two in the morning. "I can't sleep," she admitted. "Is Liz here?"

Terry rubbed at her rumpled hair as he leaned against the doorframe. "She's working the midnight shift at the hospital this week."

"You mind if I came in?" she asked while wondering why he hadn't done that already. Terry would've already had her sitting on the couch while getting her coffee or a beer by now.

He seemed conflicted as he kept rubbing his hand through his hair; Alex had known him for a long time and had picked up on a few things about the man; she knew that when he kept doing that, it meant he was afraid or worried about something. She took in his appearance again, the no shirt, no socks or shoes, dress pants with no belt...

Staring hard into his eyes, she knew.

"Terry..." was all she could out before he stepped away from the doorframe and nearly pushed her back while stepping out onto the porch with her.

"Alex," he said calmly as he shut the door behind him, "don't-"

"Don't what?" she nearly yelled before catching herself. "Don't kill you or don't tell my sister? Because I'm about to do both."

Terry leaned against the pillar and covered his eyes with his hand. "I was going to say don't yell. Nate's asleep."

Alex felt her anger erupt as she hit him hard on the shoulder. "You're cheating on your wife, my sister, with your son asleep in the next room? What the matter with you?"

He hadn't even flinched when she'd hit him. Terry kept his head down with his hand covering part of his face while she went off. "I didn't mean for this to happen."

"Oh please, Terry, save it. I don't care about your intentions. You're screwing another woman in the bed where your wife sleeps. You don't accidentally do something like that."

"I didn't say it was an accident. I didn't...It doesn't mean anything."

Alex sighed and rolled her eyes as she started to walk away.

"I love Liz, Alex."

"You sure have a messed up way of showing it."

Terry pushed off the pillar and started for her. "Don't tell her."

Alex stopped and turned to face him head-on. "Fuck you, Terry."

He stopped at that sharp snap. Staring wide-eyed at her, he gave a box as he said, "I deserve that."

"You deserve a hell of a lot more than that."

"I want to tell her," he said as she started back toward her car. "I want a chance to-"

"No amount of explaining is going to keep her from cutting your dick off or save your marriage."

"Maybe not, but I still want to be the one to tell her. Please, Alex."

Alex stopped with her hand on her car door. Sighing in irritation, anger, and frustration, she turned to face him. "Okay, but I don't want Nate here."

"I'll call someone to come-"

"I'll take him with me."

Terry looked back at the house before telling her, "Okay."

"And I want her gone. Now."

Terry stared at her for a moment before giving a nod. "Whatever you want."

Alex leaned against her car as she crossed her arms, telling him, "I'll wait."

Terry gestured over his shoulder, explaining, "I have to drive her home."

"She can walk, or take a cab, I don't care."

Rubbing over his head again, he said, "I'll call a cab."

She watched as Terry went back into the house and shut the door. Her whole insides felt on fire, like she was seconds away from erupting. Everything hurt and she wasn't sure if it was from her anger, or her sense of betrayal...or if it was because she knew how much this was going to destroy her sister.

Once the woman was in a taxi and gone, she finally went into the house. She saw Terry seated at the kitchen table, drinking out of a bottle of whiskey and smoking a cigarette. Seeing that took her by surprise because she knew for a fact that he didn't smoke. In fact, Terry hated smokers. She ignored him for the moment as she went to check on her nephew.

Nathan was fast asleep, curled up into a ball on his stomach with his backside sticking up in the air. At seeing him, she eased a little. Placing a hand on his back, she felt his warmth and smiled. She gave him a quick kiss before leaving the room.

She didn't know what she was doing, call it the cop in her blood, but she went into the kitchen and sat down across from her brother-in-law. While she'd been standing outside, she kept thinking of him and why he would do such a thing. It really wasn't like him. She knew him, and she knew that he wasn't that guy.

Then she had remembered a conversation they had a week ago. She remembered thinking that Terry had been depressed. She knew that his marriage with Liz was taking a huge turn. Not only were they new parents, but now Liz was working all the time at the hospital while he was always at the office. That was one of reasons she had offered to watch Nathan last weekend, so that Terry and Liz could have a night together for the first time in months. Because of what happened with Bobby, she had to cancel it, which made them cancel their plans.

She sat for a long time, thinking about all of this, until Terry spoke.

"This was the first time," he slurred as he stared at the table. He was still shirtless, not bothering to put one on before getting drunk. "And we didn't even get that far before you knocked."

"Would you have done it if I hadn't?"

He sighed heavily as he closed his eyes. Shaking his head, he said, "I don't know…maybe."

"Why?" she wanted to ask more, but at the moment that was all she cared about. "Why do you want to throw it all away?" When he didn't answer, she asked, "Who is she?"

"We used to work together," he simply, nearly numbly, answered. "She flirted with me for months. I would always turn her down. I really do love your sister, Alex," he told her as he finally looked up at her. She hated to see it, but she knew that he was telling her the truth. "Tonight, like I said, I didn't mean for this...She called me up, offered that we had dinner to talk. At first I said no, but then I thought...it'll be nice to actually have dinner with someone besides a two year old for a change."

"How did dinner lead you back here?"

"She lives here too. She usually takes the ferry, I offered her a ride. I've been talking Nate up the entire time at dinner. How smart he is; he's quick, you know," he said with a soft smile of pride. "He's already saying words and figuring things out. She wanted to see him."

"Terry, she was baiting you."

"I know that," he said a little angrily. "I'm not an idiot. I knew what she was doing. I'm not gonna sit here and try to lie about it. I knew she wanted to get me here, alone."

"Then why?" she asked again. "And if you tell me that you don't know, I swear-"

"I don't deserve them," he softly said. "I don't deserve this family."

"What makes you say that?"

Shaking his head as he clenched his eyes closed, holding back tears, he said, "I'm a failure. I don't...they're better off without me. I want-...I want her to leave me."

As she listened to Terry's drunken explanation, something he said hit her. She hadn't realized it until just then. Taking a breath, she asked, "Did you lose your job?"

Terry covered his face again as he gave a nod.

"How long ago was this?"

Terry was shaking as he told her, "Three months ago. I've been looking; I didn't think it would take this long. That's what she said she wanted to talk about. She knows someone who can get me a position at a firm, but only if...if we could be..." he stopped talking as he picked up the bottle and took a drink.

Alex's jaw dropped. "She solicited you, and you agreed? That's sexual harassment."

Terry smacked the bottle hard on the table as he said, "I know. God, I'm so fucked." He dropped his head in his hands and started shaking.

"I don't know what to do here, Terry. I thought you were just being a cheating asshole. Now, I know you were just a desperate one. Liz still has to know."

"I can't tell her. She can't know that I'm out of work. That I've got no money...We have a mortgage, a kid to take care of...Fuck, Alex, I bought a boat."

"She's going to notice when your house goes into foreclosure. What are your options?"

"Death," he said. "I've got a pretty sizable life insurance."

"I'm serious."

"So am I," he snapped as he looked up at her with tear stricken eyes.

Alex reached over and took his hand. She didn't know what to say after that, so she stayed quiet until Terry stood and left the room. Taking a breath, she got up as well and went into the guest room.

* * *

_Royal Motel_

He couldn't sleep so he went over the questions he had for his meeting with Eames in morning. When he couldn't think of anything else, he left the room. The wind had picked up and it was colder than it had been earlier. Taking out a smoke, he lit it up as he started walking.

He could hear the roar of the cars on the interstate a few blocks over. The noise was actually calming; he seemed to enjoy it in a way. There was a form of familiarity it brought him. He didn't know why, other than the fact that he was so used to it. New York City was a very loud place to live; it wasn't for anyone who enjoyed peace and quiet, or a relaxed environment. If you weren't willing to work, to be on the go, and getting yelled at half the time on the street, then the city definitely wasn't for you. However, he loved it.

Getting to the corner of 164th street and Grand Concourse, he was stopped by the concrete block barriers lining the road. The street was under construction. Looking around, he started along the barriers until he found a gap between two of them and walked through. He stomped over the dug up asphalt and concrete and ground as he made his way to the other side of the street. With not finding another gap on the other side, he gripped a barrier with both hands and lifted himself up and over then kept walking along 164th street, passing Joyce Kilmer Park.

There was a 24 hour deli on the next corner so he stopped and picked up a sub sandwich, cup of coffee, and another pack of smokes before continuing his walk. He didn't know where he was going or why, all he was doing was keeping his legs moving as he absently let his mind think. He stopped trying to focus and to force his memories to come, instead, he let his mind run free.

A few more blocks and the sound of a subway train roaring above him broke him from his thoughts. Looking up, he found himself in front of Yankees Stadium. He started down River Avenue, walking along the stadium and looking at the posters of all the baseball players. As he walked, taking in the names and jersey numbers, he heard a voice in his head.

It was her voice. It was Eames.

_"Oh wow. These are amazing seats," Alex said as she took out her digital camera to take a picture of the field and of her favorite player, Derek Jeter. _

_"Told you they were good," he told her as he took a seat. _

_They were along the left field sidelines in a couple of box seats he'd been able to get from a buddy of his. Seated right next to Alex was a sports photographer for the _New York Ledger_ and next to him a couple seats over were a few guys with the FDNY and NYPD. Because of work and then traffic, they arrived half an hour late to the game, but at least they got there._

_It was the first day of July, coming up on the July 4__th__ weekend, and it was hot. The humidity wasn't too bad but the night air was stifling. To ease his slight discomfort, he took a sip of his beer while Alex finally took her seat beside him. He handed her the carrier box that was full of food but not before snatching up a foil-wrapped ballpark hotdog loaded with mustard, relish, and onions. His favorite._

_As the announcer called a Red Sox player who stepped up to the plate, he leaned over and gave her a kiss. "Happy birthday."_

_Alex kissed him back. "You're such a good boyfriend," she said before kissing him again before returning her attention to the game. Then, she looked over at him while he took a bite and she said, "That thing is going to give you a heart attack."_

_He nodded in agreement, saying, "Yeah, probably," before taking another big bite of the hotdog then downing it with a big gulp of the cold beer._

_For most of the game they enjoyed each other's company as they joked with each other, talked, and tried to forget about work. "Tried" was the key word because whenever the action in the game slowed, his mind kept going back to the case they were working. The work he'd put into the ongoing case was nearly obsessive, so much so that he hadn't seen Alex after work in what seemed like weeks. Tonight was their first night together but only because it was his birthday gift to her. Alex's actual birthday was last week, but the Yankees were out of town, capping a 2-1 series win over Baltimore._

_When the ninth inning rolled around, he was on his feet trying to encourage the Yankees to break the 3-3 tie to win the game. Then when Boston got the third out he sighed and sat down, nearly exhausted. "Extra innings," he said with a groan as he took a drink of his beer, draining it._

_Alex relaxed back in her seat and smirked over at him. "Stop groaning. This is a good game. And be glad it's extra innings and not a Boston win."_

_He pulled out his scorecard and pencil, filling it in as they waited for the start of the tenth. "They would've won by now if your boyfriend could hit the ball," he said, teasing her about Jeter going 1 for 4, with no runs._

"_He's not my boyfriend, you are, and I don't like him for the way he bats."_

_Rolling his eyes, he started to laugh a little. "That's right, you only like him for his looks. Very superficial of you, Eames."_

"_Okay, kettle, go ahead and call me black. I remember when you would-"_

"_Can we not talk about me right now?" he nearly snapped, making Alex stare over at him._

"_I was only teasing you, like you were with me." She eyed him as he waved down the beer guy and bought another one. "How many have you had?"_

_Giving a shrug, he took a drink and leaned forward in the seat as he focused on the game and not on her look. They were both silent as they watched another scoreless inning, taking the game into the eleventh._

_He left to use the restroom and also bought them some more food: nachos, burgers and fries to share. When he returned to the seat, she was on her cell phone. Once she got off, he handed her the food and asked, "Who called?"_

"_My dad. I told him we were coming to the game tonight and he wanted to talk crap about the Yankees. He's still a Boston fan at heart."_

_They ate their food as they watched the eleventh inning battle come to a close with no runs. The fans were getting restless by the start of the twelfth. Something needed to happen and he could feel that the players wanted, and needed, something to happen as well._

_That something happened with two runners on, two outs, with a count of 1 and 2 as Red Sox's right fielder Trot Nixon hit a foul ball down the third base line. Jumping out of his seat, he watched as Derek Jeter, The Captain himself, darted across the field from shortstop as he stretched out and made an incredible catch. But Jeter couldn't stop himself fast enough as he took a flying dive right over the empty box seats next to him and into the stands face first. _

_For a split second he couldn't believe what he'd just seen, and then instinct kicked in as he went to help the man to his feet along with everyone else who were seated there. Jeter's face below his right eye was cut and bleeding as well as his chin, but he fine as he stepped over the seats and wall to a roar of cheers. The fans were going crazy._

_As the Yankees staff helped Jeter off the field, he and Alex looked at each other smiling before they started to cheer with everyone else. That was the best catch he'd ever seen in baseball…ever. It was incredible._

_Then the only thing that could've made it better were the two runs hit in the bottom of the thirteenth inning, giving the Yankees the win. _

He kept walking, lost in that memory and smiling because it stayed, as he turned down 161st street and headed back toward the direction of the motel.

TBC…


	10. You're A Cop

A/N: Another chapter so soon? Yes, it is possible!

Enjoy!

* * *

Major Case Squad

She had left Staten Island with Nathan in tow early that morning. Terry hadn't slept and she barely did as she kept hearing him walking the floors the whole night. She had wanted to stay until Liz got there but she remembered she had to meet with Bobby that morning. The fact that she had forgotten that last night startled her, but then again her emotions had clouded her thinking.

Calling up her parents, she hoped they could take him but they couldn't. Her mother had a doctor's appointment and her father was taking her. They were already in a cab and on their way to the doctor's office. She then called Angie and got an almost exact result. Her niece, Amy, was sick with a hundred and three degree temperature; they were at the emergency room at a hospital on Long Island. There was no way she could watch Nathan. Her other niece, Amber, Amy's twin, was at school and their parents agreed to pick her up in the afternoon once they were done at the doctors. And last she heard, her oldest brother Richard was still on vacation with his wife Melissa, and their two teenage kids were in school. Her younger brother, John Jr., Junior for short, was on the job.

So, she was stuck with the kid. Normally she wouldn't have minded, if she didn't have to go into work and then meet with Bobby.

When she walked into the office, Nathan following behind her as he pulled on his thick coat, Deakins only stared before coming up to her desk.

"Eames-"

"Captain, this is my nephew, Nathan," she said as she sat down at her desk and started to take Nate's coat off. "I'm going to need a half day. A family emergency came up and, well, I was the only one who could take him." It wasn't entirely the whole truth, but it was enough. And Deakins was a parent, he would understand. At least she hoped he would.

Deakins stared down at them and then let out a deep sigh. "You're still meeting with Goren this morning?"

She gave a nod as she tossed the coat on her desk. After she'd hung up with Bobby last night, she called Deakins. They had agreed that she go alone, to gain Bobby's trust, but he was still worried. Why, she didn't know. This was Bobby after all, not a serial killer. However, just as Bobby as said, how could she know him if he didn't even know himself. Bobby did run from the cops last night instead of turning himself in.

Deakins went to the break room and grabbed a chair from the table and brought it to her desk so Nathan could sit down. "Okay, he can stay here. I'll keep an eye on him."

"Thanks, Captain. I'm sorry for the inconvenience."

"Hey, it's okay. Family's family, and sometimes it can't be helped."

He left her alone at her desk while he went to his office. Alex turned to Nate who was looking around the room at all the people as he sunk back in the chair. She could tell that he wanted to get up and explore but he was also becoming really shy around people. Digging into his dipper bag, she pulled out one of his toys and handed it to him. He took the truck with a smile as he started driving it over the seat and then her desk.

"What's with the kid-o? He a suspect?"

Alex looked up and saw Logan along with Detective Barek walk up. "Yeah, he's wanted for grand thief auto of a Tonka truck."

Logan chuckled as he sat down in the chair opposite her as he sipped at his coffee while he tossed her a file.

"So, who is he really?" Barek asked as she pulled over a chair to join them.

"My nephew," she said as she picked up the file and flipped it open. "A family thing came up and he's mine today. Neither of you don't mind, do you?"

"Me?" Logan asked incredulously as he gestured to himself. "I love kids." To emphasize his point, he reached over and ruffled Nate's hair, causing Nate to reached up and push the hand away. "They just don't love me."

"I don't mind," Barek said as she chuckled as Nate drove his truck over her seat.

"Like I suspected; DNA on the syringe found in Bobby's car matches Bobby. He was drugged. Tox screen on the drug is that of a paralytic…Curare. And the only prints found on Bobby's wallet and cell phone found at the warehouse were his. Just great," Alex mumbled as she tossed the file down and got up to get herself a cup of coffee. While she was in the break room, she got a Sprite for Nathan as well before going back to her desk. She took out Nate's cup and added the soda.

"His parents let him drink that stuff?" Barek asked.

"No, but his Aunt does. Plus, I figured Sprite was better than Coke. No caffeine."

"Good call," Logan said as the phone on his desk shrilled to life. Picking it up, he answered, "Logan. Oh, good morning, Doctor Kendal. Yeah…" he said as reached over to his rolodex and flipped through it. "Our fax number is…1-212-222-8889. Okay, thanks."

Alex stared at him until he was done and off the phone. Doctor Kendal had been Bobby's doctor. "Well, what'd she say?"

Logan held up a finger for her to wait before going over to the fax machine. He grabbed a couple sheets off the machine. Coming back over to her, he sat down at the desk and said, "Results are back from the blood work on Goren. They found a drug in his system…I hate chemistry," he said as he went to pronounce the name and couldn't. "Mid-ah-zoo-lam…what?"

Alex snapped her fingers for him to hand her the sheets, which he willingly did. She looked the information over and said, "We need Rodgers."

"Can I see it?" Barek asked.

Alex handed her the sheet from the hospital along with the sheet from the police report and waited for her to read them over.

"Goren was poisoned with Chondrodendron momentous, also known as Curare. It's a plant found in South America, it causes paralysis. They found a low level of the main toxic ingredient, d-Tubocurarine, in his blood stream." When Logan looked at her with that look, the one usually preserved for Goren, Barek shrugged. "I'm big on plants."

"What about the drug the doctors found in his system?" Alex asked.

"Midazolam. It's used during surgeries to cause the patient amnesia so they don't remember it."

"How long does a drug like that lasts?"

"A couple of hours," Barek said. "And it doesn't stay in the blood stream long. That's why it wasn't found in the blood taken at the hospital."

"Not even if it was combined with the other drug?" Logan asked.

She shook her head as she handed the sheets back to Alex. "No. They are meant to be used together during surgical operations. The paralytic is used to make sure the patient doesn't move, while the Midazolam is used to make sure the patient doesn't remember the surgery. Curare, it paralyses the body but it doesn't knock the patient out. They're still awake. They are able to see what's going on. So they give the patient amnesia in order to block the operation out of their minds."

"And this was given to Bobby," Alex said as she looked at the words on the sheets of paper. "The doctor said he also suffered from a severe concussion, Grade three. Could the effects of the drugs, and then him hitting his head, cause what's going on with him now?"

Barek thought about it but all she could do was shrug, saying, "I don't have an answer for that. It's hard to say, anything's possible."

"Thanks, Barek," Logan said, making both women stare over at him. "What? I can't thank someone for their help?"

Not long after, at exactly nine o'clock, her cell phone beeped. Picking it up, she flipped it open as she answered, "Eames."

Like she expected, it was Bobby. He wanted to meet in an hour at 7th Avenue and Broadway…Times Square. She left Nathan in the company of Logan and Deakins as she left the building.

* * *

_Royal Motel_

He was showered, dressed, and out of the room by seven that morning. Walking into the office, he saw Teresa and pulled out his cell phone as he approached the desk. When she spotted him, she frowned and shook her head.

"You're becoming a repeat customer."

"You lied to me."

Teresa sighed and stared at him like he lost his mind. "I didn't-"

"You told me there was no receipt because she paid cash."

She was quiet a moment before saying, "You talked to Jerome. Figured you men would stick together."

Leaning on the counter, he told her, "Look, you can hate men all you want. I don't care. All I care about is knowing who this woman is. She not only stole from me, but I think she also poisoned me. You said that I was barely alert, and that I couldn't walk on my own. Then she was going to leave me in that motel room for three days. I could've died, okay. And she would be the one responsible."

Teresa eyed him for a long moment before looking defeated. "What'd you want from me? I already told you what I know."

"I don't think you've told me everything. You lied about the receipt." He found the picture he'd taken of Nicole on his phone and showed it to her. "Do you recognize her?"

Teresa took the phone from him so she could get a better look of the picture. She studied it for a moment before glancing up at him. "She was the one who picked the brunette up."

"Are you certain? You said a car pulled up and she got in."

She gave a nod as she handed the phone back. "I left out the part of the driver getting out. She came in and paid me to keep quiet about what I saw."

"What kind of car was she driving?"

Giving a shrug, she said, "Vintage Ford Mustang. Late model 60's or early 70's, I'm not sure of the year but it was in good condition. My boyfriend was practically drooling over it. That it?"

He pocketed the phone as he said, "Yeah, that's it. Thank you." He left the motel and headed up the block toward the bus stop as he dialed a number.

* * *

_Intersection of 7__th__ Avenue, 46__th__ Street and Broadway_

_Times Square, Manhattan_

Times Square, the most crowded tourist spot in all of New York City, and she was right in the middle of it. The tall buildings, big moving billboards with half naked people and advertisements of Broadway shows and credit cards, to television shows and everything in-between flashed around her. Cars were constantly passing by along with buses and cabs, and hordes and hordes of people. It's no wonder Bobby chose this spot to meet. If she had betrayed him, bringing other cops along, it would've been easy for Bobby to slip away.

Her cell phone vibrated in her pocket. Looking at the ID, she saw it was Bobby again. "Eames."

"Take the number 9 bus. It's coming down 7th Avenue now, a block from you."

She looked down the street and saw the bus coming. The line went dead as she crossed the street to the bus stop. Seconds later, she got on the bus and looked around the seats. Bobby wasn't on it. She found an empty seat and sat down. At the next stop more people got on and off but still no Bobby. It wasn't until the fourth stop that she saw him get on and pay the fare.

He was wearing a Yankees baseball cap and he still hadn't shaved. Bobby saw her near the back but instead of walking back to her, grabbed the overhead bar and motioned for her to get up and do the same. Alex got up and walked toward him, grabbing onto the bar as the bus took a right turn. After a couple more blocks, Bobby got off and she followed.

They were in Hell's Kitchen at 39th street and 9th Avenue, and she had no idea why until Bobby nodded across the street. There was a restaurant next to a Laundromat that was open and serving breakfast.

"I hope you're hungry."

"I am, actually. I had to skip breakfast this morning."

They got a booth in the back and by the hallway that lead to the restrooms and exit. Neither said anything until after they ordered.

She could tell that something was bothering him, but didn't jump on it. It wasn't the right time; the last thing she wanted to do was put him on edge. He looked to be on edge enough. He also looked like he hadn't been sleeping. "I can't sleep either," she said, breaking the silence.

Bobby looked her over and gave nod as he took off the cap and tossed it on the table in the corner. He rubbed over his eyes and leaned back in the seat until the coffee was served. "I had a memory, uh…I was walking last night, couldn't sleep, and I ended up at Yankee Stadium. I guess that uh…that we were there once, for your birthday?"

Alex smiled. He was remembering. "Last year. That was a great game. That catch by Jeter in the twelfth, amazing."

He was smiling as well as he gave a nod. "It's not much," he said. "But at least I have hope now that my memories will keep on coming. I still don't know who I am, and I still don't know what happened. I stopped trying to force myself to remember. I think that's making it worse. I just need to let it happen, you know. The sounds, and smells…a touch, they're what's helping me remember."

"It's good. However it's happening, it's good." She watched him and smiled when she saw that goofy smirk of his; the one he would got usually when he figured something out in a case, and then she would tell him to not look so happy. But this time, she was really happy.

Their food was served and she felt her stomach growl at the smell. She was starving. "I made a decision to tell you anything you want to know. No more holding back. You're right, you deserve it and even though it's an ongoing investigation, I don't care. You need to know, and I want you to know. Heck, you might start remembering things because of it. Or you might know something and not realize it."

Bobby watched her as he took a drink of coffee. "Have you been to the motel?"

"No; I'm not on your case, but two other detective have already been and interviewed the staff."

"They should go back. The woman who was on duty was paid to not talk."

Alex gapped at him and waited for him to continue. When he didn't, she asked, "Paid by who?"

"The woman ID'd Nicole Wallace. She picked up the woman, a brunette, who was with me in the room."

She stared at him and asked in disbelief, "You've seen Nicole?"

Bobby glanced up at her as he started to eat. "She approached me."

The anger she felt nearly caused her to snap at him until she remembered that Bobby had no memory. He had no idea who Nicole was. "They were working together then," she said as it clicked into place. Bobby frowned at her in confusion. "The reason why you're wanted for another murder, Bobby. It was of a woman, Brenda Hanson. She was found in a warehouse, along with your wallet, cell phone, and suit jacket. Wallace must have taken her there after picking her up at the motel and killed her, framing you."

"What would be the reason to frame me?"

"To tarnish your reputation," she said as she realized that it was the only explanation. "Nicole tried before a few years ago. She murdered a suspect in a case involving anthrax and made it look like a suicide. Before she killed him, Nicole forced him to write a suicide note implicating you as the person responsible in driving him to do it."

She could see a dark look in Bobby's eyes as he asked, "That was the Dan Croyden case? I remember reading about it on the internet. I thought-"

"The papers never corrected their error, Bobby. You didn't drive a man to suicide. You didn't do that and you didn't commit these murders neither."

"How about cheat on you? I was in a motel room, Eames, with another woman."

"You didn't-"

"How could you be for sure? How can you not have any doubt in your mind that I didn't intentionally have an affair? And that this Nicole woman used it to, like you said, tarnish my rep."

Alex took a breath as she tried not to think about that, but then Terry came to mind and she was at a loss. How did she know? Because she trusted him. However, he was drugged. Anything could've happened. There was no evidence of sexual intercourse found on him during the examination at the hospital, but the nurse did say that a condom could've been used. "I don't," she finally said in acknowledgement that something could've happened. "But I do know that you were drugged."

"I was?" he asked in astonishment.

"You were given both Curare and Midazolam. They're-"

"One's a paralytic and the other was used to make me forget what happened, but neither one of them would've caused me this type of amnesia."

"But maybe the combination of everything, and then you hitting your head. It all came together to cause this."

Bobby seemed to take that all in as he returned to eating his food. "Okay," he finally said after a couple of long minutes. "If you're right, then maybe it was all staged. An elaborate plan to drag me, my reputation and name, through the mud. The appearance of the affair, it could've been used not to just ruin me, but to also make you lose faith in me. I got the impression that Nicole was jealous of you."

Alex rolled her eyes. "She's more than jealous. She's obsessed."

"And if she is behind all this?"

"Then come in. She's extremely dangerous," she stressed. "She'll have no problem killing you."

He shook his head as he told her, "I think you're wrong. She won't kill me. I think she enjoys playing these games with me way too much."

"Then what are you going to do? Continue running and hiding like the criminal that the press and public already thinks that you are?"

Bobby finished his meal and pushed the plate away as he leaned back in the seat. He was eyeing her, but she could tell that he was thinking things over in his head. "If I come in now, will I be arrested and charged and locked up?"

Alex sighed as she shook her head. "I don't know." And it was the truth. She didn't know. "But you'll be given a psychological evaluation to prove this amnesia is real."

"The drugs in my system should be enough efficient evidence to prove that what happened during those two days I was missing had nothing to do with me. The statement from the woman, Teresa, who works the desk at that motel will also prove that I was there Saturday night and that I didn't leave until Monday morning. She can also ID Wallace and this Brenda woman as being with me. So would it matter if I come in or not? And why are you smiling like that?"

She was smiling, and she couldn't help it. "Because," she said. "I miss talking to you. I miss this," she gestured back-and-forth between them. "And I like knowing that you're still you despite all of this. You're a great cop, Bobby. If you're trying to find an identify to hang on to, and to know who you are, that's what you should be telling yourself. You're a cop. You're a detective. All you have to do is just listen to yourself and trust in that."

He was staring at her in contemplation for a long moment before he finally smiled a little. Giving a nod, he said, "Thanks, Eames. That uh…that helps, to hear you say that."

"It's the truth," she told him as she also pushed her finished plate away.

"And, as for being a cop," he continued to say, "you would understand my decision to not come in." Before she could speak, he said, "And you can understand my decision to continue finding as much out about myself, and about what happened to me, and about this Nicole woman."

At hearing that, she nearly went into shock, asking, "You're going to do what?"

Bobby leaned on the table as he quietly told her as he stared at the table, "Nicole is wanting to…I guess, in a way, help me. I don't know why, or how, but she's up to something and I'm going to find out. And maybe, not only can I put her away, but I can finally get to the truth of this whole mess. If you say that she's the one who killed this Caleb kid, and Brenda, and the one who's trying to frame me for it all…then I want her. I want to take her down." Looking up into her eyes, he asked, "Will you help me do that, Eames?"

Alex stared into his eyes for a long moment. This was such a bad idea, but what could she do. Bobby had already made up his mind; all she could do was agree. "Okay. I'll help."

Smirking slightly, he said, "I get the feeling we've done stuff like this before."

Alex couldn't help but shake her head and laugh. "Only because you make me. And I know that no matter what I say, you'll do it anyway."

Bobby gave her a teasing wink as he leaned back and took out his wallet. "Now," he said as the tossed some case down, "that sounds like me."

TBC…


	11. Girlfriend

_Hell's Kitchen, Manhattan_

They walked along the busy snow drizzled street, her pulling on gloves as he stuffed his cold hands into his jeans pockets. He knew he hadn't been completely forthcoming in the diner. He left a few things out, like the description of the car; however, he had to be sure she wouldn't betray him.

Eames pulled out her cell and made a call while they walked to the nearest bus stop. "Captain, it's Eames...Yes, it went good...No, no, he's not coming in. Believe me, Captain, I tried." She was quiet for a long moment, listening while they stopped at the crosswalk. "A desk manager at the motel, you and Barek need to speak with her again. She withheld valuable information about the case...She can ID the woman who was in the room with him and the driver of the vehicle that picked her up...The vehicle? I'm not-"

"She said it was a Ford Mustang uh, a, uh...late model '60's or early '70's," he told her as they started across the street.

Eames looked up at him as she told her police captain, "She was driving Bobby's car."

He stumbled slightly as he looked down at her. It was his car?...Nice.

"All right, Captain, I will." She closed her phone as she asked, "Why'd you keep that from me until now?"

Shrugging, he told her, "I had to make sure you wouldn't betray me first...I'm glad I told you, or else I would've been running around the Bronx looking for my own car."

"You never would've found it. The cops of the 44th have it in their garage." She glanced around him, down the street. "Bus is coming."

He took a glance and saw it half a mile down the block.

"Where are you staying?"

He looked around the neighborhood as he told her, "Any place that'll take me. I try not to stay at the same place twice."

She looked him over as she said, "You don't have that black backpack of yours."

"After the hotel got raided, I figured it wasn't smart to leave anything behind. Or to keep it with me." Looking down at her, he smirked, "I'm a fast learner."

"You always were. Bobby, I know a place you can stay, or at least go when you have nowhere else. Everyone will be looking for you at your place, but not at mine."

He eyed her as he asked as the bus screeched to a stop next to them. "Yours?"

"I told you I was moving. It's a two story townhouse in Rockaway. No one knows about it," she said as she held her hand out to stop the bus driver from closing the doors on her. "I haven't even turned the electricity on yet."

"Hey, lady, you getting on or what?"

She glared at the driver as she told him, "One second," before telling him, "It's safe, and besides me, no one will ever know you're there."

"Eames, I appreciate it, but-"

"All I'm asking is for you to think about it," she told him as she stepped onto the bus. "Whenever you want, give me a call. Okay?"

Giving a nod he told her as the doors closed between them, "Okay."

She was standing on the steps of the bus, staring down at him as it started to pull away from the curb. He could see it in her eyes. She was in pain, a deep sorrow of loss, and it was because of him.

As the bus disappeared down the busy street, he wondered if that look would ever go away. He wondered if he loved her as much as she did him.

* * *

_DA Jack McCoy's Office_  
_One Hogan Plaza, Manhattan_

McCoy had called him that morning, after Eames had left, to inform him of a meeting in his office at one that afternoon concerning Detective Goren's case. That had given him and Detective Barek time to go to the Bronx to interview Teresa McNeal at the Royal Motel.

With all the evidence gathered thus far in the investigation, he was certain that McCoy would drop this ridiculous quest of taking it to the Grand Jury. There was no evidence of any kind proving that Goren had done anything wrong, other than talking to Caleb Cunningham alone. Goren had already been suspended for that little stunt. Granted, he now knew why he'd done it, however, that was no excuse.

And because of that little stunt, he was now a suspect in a murder investigation.

Walking into the office of the DA, Deakins held out his hand to shake the one being offered. "Jack."

"Jimmy, it's good to see you again."

Turning to Barek, he introduced her, "This is Detective Barek. She's been recently hired by me to oversee this investigation."

Jack shook her hand as well before telling him, "I wasn't trying to make this personal, Jim, only fair. You understand."

"I do, but you also have to understand that none of the detectives were making it personal, least of all SVU. If anything, they were only taking over the case that had been originally assigned to them in the first place. Caleb Cunningham was theirs."

"And if I'm not mistaken, they had it wrong. As for it not being personal, are you sure about that? Last I heard, Logan was Goren's friend and Eames is currently his girlfriend."

"Please, gentlemen," Carver said as he walked into the office. "I can hear you both all the way down the hall. Who's conducting the investigation shouldn't be more important as to what has been discovered during said investigation."

"All I'm saying, Ron, is that this case is personal to the detectives of the Major Case Squad, especially to Detective Eames. And I know that because she's been stalking around in my reception area for over an hour. I know you three noticed the wear pattern in my floor when you came in," Jack announced as he waved a hand toward the door.

As if on cue, it opened and Eames charged in telling Jack, "I thought I asked to be notified when they got here."

"And I thought I told you that you weren't invited," Jack told her right back. "Jim, you want to take care of this."

Deakins glanced to Eames. She had her arms crossed over her chest, feet planted, and jaw set. She wasn't going to leave easily, not without someone dragging her out. "It's okay with me if she stays. Carver, is that a problem for you?"

Carver shook his head as he answered, "I see no reason why Detective Eames would have to leave. She did work the early part of this investigation, and she did talk to Detective Goren this morning."

Jack glared at the both of them, looking ready to throw them all out, before resigning. "Can't say I'm not surprised. Fine, you can stay," he addressed Eames, "but I'm free to throw you out anytime I deem appropriate for you not to be here."

"Then I guess I'll need to know what qualifies as appropriate," she snarled back with a lot more attitude.

"Eames," Deakins said, "You're pushing it."

She looked at him, apologized, then glared once more at McCoy before sitting down.

He held back a smirk as he took a seat as well. There were a number of reasons why Eames was a great cop, her fearlessness was definitely at the top of that list.

Once everyone was seated, Jack got right down to business. "Now, enough with the pleasantries. What have you found out?" he asked to no one in-particular.

Deakins looked to Barek and gave her a nod, letting her know it was her time to take over. Even though he was Captain, she was lead detective on the case.

Barek held nothing back as she told McCoy everything from Caleb Cunningham's autopsy to the drugs found in Goren's system, to their interview with Teresa at the motel.

The moment she was done, Jack sat back in his chair and let out a loud, audible sigh.

Deakins was certain that with all this added information that Jack would hold off on the Grand Jury indictment.

Carver felt the same as he spoke up, saying, "If you present Goren to the Grand Jury in relation to the Cunningham death, Jack, I assure you I'll knock it all down with all this evidence."

"You can't prove the nurse on the video from the hospital is this Nicole Wallace. You can't prove that she committed the murder."

"And neither can you," Carver interjected. "The only thing you can prove is that Detective Goren went in that room alone, something that he even admitted doing. The fact is, no one was in that room during the time of death to know who committed the act. However, what we do know is that Miss Wallace has been identified as the driver of Goren's vehicle, which contained a needle. That needle was used to paralyze him. We know that Caleb Cunningham was also poisoned using a needle that was full of potassium chloride, and that Miss Wallace has used these methods before on her victims."

Deakins glanced over at Carver and felt a brief smile form on his face.

"And from their history," Jack was saying, "Goren knows Wallace's MO very well, wouldn't you say?"

"No, he wouldn't," Eames exclaimed from her seat next to the desk. "He's suffering from amnesia; he has no idea what her method is."

"Allegedly," Jack shot back.

"I've talked to him, you haven't. He would never lie about not remembering not only who he is, but his family, his job, and me," she retorted.

"Even if it were true, detective, that's beside the point." McCoy leaned on his desk as he told her, "It doesn't matter because Caleb Cunningham was killed before this supposed bout of memory loss. As for his paralysis, the needle was in his car, in his possession."

"Are you accusing him of drugging himself?"

"It wouldn't be the first time a suspect drugged himself," McCoy said as he dared anyone to say he was wrong.

They all wanted to, Deakins was sure, but it sounded like McCoy had a strong case. One that was hypothetical and full of circumstantial evidence, but a case nonetheless. He could see the DA giving a strong argument with what they had, and he had a feeling that if given the chance Jack would do all he could to convict Goren.

"The only thing that can be taken away from all of this," Jack said, breaking him out of his thoughts, "is that Goren probably didn't kill Brenda Hanson. Yet, your eye witness was in the office the whole time and at some point had to leave, either to use the bathroom or to go home at the end of shift. The lot has no cameras, so no one knows if the car ever came back or if he jumped in it before it left the parking lot. You said yourself that the paralytic wasn't long lasting."

McCoy had said that last part looking right at Detective Barek.

"You go through with this," Carver said, "and I will jump across the bench to defend Goren against these allegations."

McCoy looked right at Carver as he told him, "I'm looking forward to it."

* * *

_Alex's Apartment_  
_Rockaway, Queens_

Since she told Bobby about staying at her townhouse, Alex decide to at least get the place ready. When she moved out of her old apartment, she put most of her leftover furniture in storage. She figured it was due to a small part of her that feared one day she would be once again on her own. It wasn't just because of Bobby, but because she'd been alone for a long time after Joe's death, and she learned a long time ago that anything can happen to anyone at any given moment; that the present wasn't a guarantee for the future.

So, she'd kept her bed-among other things. The delivery truck arrived a few minutes after she did, which was five-thirty on the dot. The two men carried the box spring and mattress to just inside her front door before leaving. She ran after them as she yelled, asking, "What about the headboard and-"

"Beside the boxes, that's all there was," the driver told her as he got back into the truck.

Alex stared at him as she said, "I had the whole set."

"Look, we got what was there. You got a complaint, call the manager of the storage unit."

Alex watched as the truck pulled away, already thinking of things to say to the manager when she saw him walking her way. His head was down, and once again covered with the Yankee's cap. On his back was the black backpack, the same one he'd used last year while working undercover to catch an artist who was killing women to photograph.

She was certain he hadn't seen her yet as his eyes were focused on the ground in front of him. She had no idea how he had found her, but she wasn't the least surprised. He was very resourceful, no matter what he did or didn't know.

He looked up and at seeing her, smiled slightly. "I wasn't sure if you'd be here or not."

Shaking her head at him, she said, "You look like you're freezing."

He was, and so was she. The temperature had dropped dramatically over the last 24 hours, indicating the coming snowstorm. Snow had already started to fall, thickening the already thin layer that had fallen earlier that morning. From what she'd heard so far on the news, the snow wasn't supposed to stop now until morning.

Bobby followed her inside and she quickly shut the door. She felt the shiver of cold despite the door being shut. "The only thing is-"

"There's no heat," he said as he looked at her before pointing to the fireplace. "Does that work?"

"It should. I got the electric turned on, but my landlord neglected to tell me that the central heating was out of commission. Probably why this place wasn't already rented."

She headed to the kitchen and opened one of the boxes that had been delivered along with the bed. On the way there, in preparation for if and when Bobby decided to stay there, she stopped off at the store to pick up some groceries. It wasn't a lot, but enough for a few days.

She pulled out her old coffee machine and plugged it in. She prepared it and switched it on; within seconds it started to brew. Going over to the stove, she turned on the oven as she pulled out a frozen pizza from one of the four grocery bags. The heat from the oven would also help to heat the rooms.

She put the pizza in the oven and set the timer as she heard him enter the room. Bobby was a big guy, and she could hear him easily in the empty house. "I got styrofoam cups for the coffee and paper plates for the pizza."

She turned and found him standing by the entryway, staring at her, in just a black t-shirt and blue jeans. Even his boots were off, but she presumed that was because he didn't want to track snow through her new house. And that stare he was giving her, it wasn't a creepy one but an inquisitive one. It was the look he would get when he was trying to figure something out. He was trying to figure her out.

"So, which is it?"

He blinked back and shook it. "I'm sorry..."

"Friend or foe?"

He stood there for a moment, thinking about it, before a small smirk twisted his lips. How she missed that look, and those lips.

"Friend," he said as he finally stepped further into the kitchen. "I got the fire going. Guess it's a good thing I own a lighter."

She frowned a little and she wasn't surprised that he'd picked up on it.

"What is it? I didn't smoke before?"

"No, you did. You had quit for nearly eight, nine years, but had started up again."

He leaned back against the kitchen counter, keeping a distance, as he asked, "We've been together that long?"

Shaking her head, she told him, "We haven't even known each other that long. It'll be two years this March."

"And how long as police partners?"

"About four years. We were partners up until we had to let our chain of command know; after that..." she hesitated before telling him, "They dealt with it by splitting us up."

He gave a nod as he said, "Fraternization isn't looked upon lightly, I would think."

She felt a stab in her heart as he said that. The pain she'd felt, that they had felt, over the breakup of their partnership was lost on him. He just stood there, leaning on the counter, and logically reasoned it all out.

"But I guess it was worth it since we both agreed, and we're still together now."

She smiled hearing him say that. "Yes," she told him, "it was."

He looked away, studying the floor, and she took the time between the silence to fill them both styrofoam cups full of coffee. As she handed him the cup full of black coffee, he asked, "How, uh...how serious were we?"

Alex didn't know how to answer that, or how she felt by his use of past tense. Feeling at a loss in how to explain it, she opted for, "It's complicated."

"But it was..." he trailed off as he rubbed at his head; she knew that meant he was having difficulty either asking or finding the right words.

Helping him out, she said, "Serious?"

Bobby looked up at her, smiling slightly as he said, "Something...important."

Alex thought about it, then answered, "That's one way to look at it."

"And what would be another way...your way?"

Alex gave a shrug as she said, "Unique. You're very much an...acquired taste."

She saw that smirk again; the one that whenever she saw it she couldn't help but smile too.

"The water works?" he suddenly asked.

She reached over and turned on the tap, releasing a gush of water. "Yep."

Bobby pointed over his shoulder, asking, "Bathroom that way?"

"Up the steps, first door."

She watched as he took a couple of steps to leave. He stopped, hand rubbing along the back of his neck-such a Bobby thing to do-before turning halfway back toward her.

"That's not...I wanted to ask you something else."

She had to restrain herself from bracing up. Bobby was already having trouble talking about them, if she showed any fear of what he might ask then he might just decide to not ask it. "Ask away; whatever it is, I'm not going to be mad, Bobby."

He nearly looked ashamed, or scared himself, as he walked back into the room. Setting the cup down on the counter, he told her, "When I was at my home the other night...you touched me."

Alex thought back to that night as she gave a nod. She remembered his reaction; it wasn't a pleasant one. "I remember," she told him even though she knew it wasn't a question.

He sighed as he started to pace a little while he explained, "Its...The thing-" he stopped as he turned back to her but continued to look to the floor. His hands were gesturing out to her as he said, "Even though I can't remember much, I get these feelings, you know. Someone touches me, usually nothing happens, except...except when it's with someone I know or find out that I have a history with. With my brother, when I went to see him last night, it was anger. A lot of anger. I immediately read him and felt...what I felt. Then the other day, with Nicole...the same thing but, not anger."

He looked up at her then and she suddenly realized why he had that look. Alex tried not to let it get to her, to sharpen the blade that had been twisting her heart ever since she first learned of Bobby's amnesia. It wasn't working.

"My question is...why? Why was she able to do that, and...and the person who loves me, didn't."

Alex took a deep breath as she willed the nervousness that shook her body down. She tried to hide it by taking a drink of the coffee, which seemed to make it worse.

After giving it some thought, she finally came to the conclusion that it was because they were starting over in a way. They were back to square one with each other and that made her think of first meeting him. And, of Bobby's first meet with her, and then his first with Nicole. She remembered why she'd questioned Bobby's interest in her before, and shook her head at what she was about to say.

"It's because she would, and I wouldn't." Bobby was surprised by that, and when all he did was continue to stare wide-eyed at her, she explained, "Our relationship wasn't due to an instant attraction or love at first sight, but from our friendship. We fell in love with each other over time, Bobby. I can't believe I'm about to say this...Nicole is more your type, in nearly every way. She's tall, blond, intelligent as you, and foreign. The fact that she's a psychopathic killer is the only reason you're not with her instead. When you two first met, it was instant. Even I could see it in you. You were drawn to her, intrigued by her, and, like I said before, she was the same with you. At the diner, I left out the part of your own obsession with her, but it's not the same kind. Where she wants to play with you, in probably every sense of the word, you want to get her. To bring her down, hard."

"Like...Captain Ahab and Moby Dick."

Alex nodded. "You could say that."

"The only thing with that is that Ahab died at the end; he was consumed by his obsession." Alex looked at him and he instantly read her. "I'm, consumed...by her."

"I wouldn't go that far, but it is unhealthy. She gets to you, and you let her. She's not the only one you've done that with, but she is the only one that has gotten away, three times." Alex sighed heavily, feeling the weight of what she'd just told him. "You had it hard, Bobby. In life and love, trust and...letting yourself fall in love, they don't come easy. What you felt with Nicole, I believe is due to you being more acceptable to it. It's not just intrigue you feel towards her, but a lot of sympathy, hate, and maybe even empathy. And they're right at the surface. What we feel, and how you feel about me is deeper. It runs deeper than the surface."

"So," he said, "it could be that its buried, with everything else." Bobby looked up at her from staring at the floor. "It's something...I have to discover all over again."

Alex felt the blade being pulled from her heart as she saw the look in his eyes. The wonder, and near fascination, made her wounded heart start to heal. "I guess so."

His smile was light, and open, as he gave a nod. "Okay."

TBC...


	12. Stranger

A/N: Thanks for the reviews!

Enjoy!

* * *

_Alex's Apartment_

He could hear her in the other room. She was on the phone, talking with her sister. The moment she told him who had called, it hit him about her family. If they've been together for almost two years, then he had to know her family. Her family had to know him. And he was currently on the news being wanted by the police.

Her family would be concerned for her, worried, and they would have a lot of questions. He wondered if she'd told any of them about his...condition. If they all knew he couldn't remember who they were, what their relationships were like, and if they even liked him.

It was all very strange.

With nothing and no one familiar, it was like he was a stranger to the entire human race. Being a stranger to his own self was one thing, being a stranger to others was something completely different. He felt so empty and alone as he listened to Eames' soft whispers in the other room.

She told him to call her Alex, but he found he couldn't. Where she could call him Bobby so easily, even though it still made him uncomfortable, he couldn't bring himself to call her something so informal...intimate. Something that told him they were more than strangers; that they were friends.

He was trying, but he found a part of himself very reluctant to cross that line. He had no idea why, it made no sense to him, but he wasn't trying to force the understanding that would come; if only gradually.

They had finished the coffee, really only drinking it to warm up from the cold, and replaced their styrofoam cups with the wine she'd bought. She had told him it was his favorite and even though he couldn't remember, he really enjoyed it.

Swirling the liquor around in his cup, he heard a sharp reply coming from the kitchen and looked up to see Eames walking around, nearly pacing as she started to go off on the defense. Whatever it was she and her sister were talking about, it was getting heated. Trying not to eavesdrop, he laid back on the mattress and closed his eyes as he listened to the fire crackle in the fireplace.

A while ago they had decided since there was no furniture to sit on, to just put the mattress down on the floor in front of the fireplace. So, that was what they'd done.

The wind was blowing hard outside, and last he checked, the snow was still coming down. He was certain they would have a couple feet by morning. It was actually a good night to be exactly where he was. If he had a memory, it would've been a pretty romantic night. A fireplace as the only source of heat, bottle of wine, and a raging snowstorm outside. Perfect...if only.

Sitting up slightly, he took another drink of the wine before lying back down, staring at the ceiling.

"...Liz, that's not what-"

He looked over as her voice broke through his foggy and buzzed thoughts.

Eames groaned as she rubbed at her head. "I didn't feel it was right. And Nate was fine...Bobby's not-" She sighed heavily as she abruptly stopped talking. "I explained what happened, and he's innocent," she stressed.

He had a feeling that this wasn't the first time she had to defend him. And, he'd been right. Her family was worried.

Turning away from watching her and trying not to feel like a burden, and forcing his thoughts of leaving down, he closed his eyes and focused on the fire that was burning on the outside, in the fireplace.

There was another fire burning; one on the inside and it was getting harder to ignore, harder to push away. It wasn't a fire of desire, or passion, but of anger and rage. All this was making him feel like he was on the verge of destruction, self and otherwise.

It was all becoming too much and all he could feel was how much he hated it. Hated himself for not remembering, hating the fear and uncertainty he was putting Eames through, and hating the fear of never being himself again. Of never being the man he once was.

He didn't even know if that man was worth it. He had his doubts. He had his fears that she was wrong in what she'd just told her sister. He could be guilty.

"I don't know how her relationship with her husband suddenly became about me and you. God, sometimes she makes me so mad."

He opened his eyes and peered over at her as she walked back into the room, cell phone clenched in her hand. "She's deflecting," he said even though he wasn't quite sure what they'd been talking about. However, from what she just told him, it was reasonable to assume that he was right.

"Yeah, maybe. I know she's scared about her future with Terry now, but to attack me like that!"

He stared at her because he didn't know what was going on, and if he was honest, he really didn't care to know. Maybe he did before, when he felt a relationship with her family, but now he had no desire to get in the middle of it.

She stared down at him and asked, "How did you find me?"

He went to speak when he suddenly felt a feeling twist his stomach. It was fear; for some reason, he was afraid to answer that. Taking a breath, and trying to beat down that fear, he answered, "Melanie."

Eames twisted her face in confusion and asked, "Who's Melanie?"

"A librarian. She helped me find my address in Greenpoint. I guess that uh, that we were, are, uh...friends."

Eames continued to look at him, and this time she was looking fearful herself. But, more in a suspicious sort of way. "A friend? A woman friend...already?"

He shrugged into the mattress as he continued to look at her. "You're jealous?" he asked, and feeling a slight unease at that thought.

She was jealous he realized as she stiffened a little as she reddened. There was a moment when neither of them spoke. They both felt it, a fear of the uncertainty. A belief that maybe this was going to change everything.

She was the first to voice her concern as she asked, "How?" When he only continued to look at her, confused, she elaborated, "How did you find her?"

"Oh uh, I was in Brooklyn and realized that I needed to get some information and I thought that the easiest and quickest way to do that was to use a computer and the only thing I could think of was to go to a library. The closest one was in Prospect Heights. I guess I used to live around that neighborhood and-and that I uh, I knew Melanie from um, from you know, before."

"You like her," she said it as a statement, not a question.

He shrugged again, saying, "She was nice. Listen, Eames," he said as he sat up on the side of the mattress. Turning to her, he continued as he kept eye contact with her, "I'm not trying to jump into anything here. Not even with you. I just...It's like I just woke up out of a twenty year coma with no memory. Okay, that's what it feels like for me right now. My intentions as of now isn't to...to try to get a woman to like me, or to have sex with me. I mean, when I was at the library, when I first met her, yes, I thought she was nice and friendly and how she knew who I was. And I admit that I thought she was attractive, but I also had no thoughts or desire of-of doing anything with her, in any sort-of way. She even asked me out, but I declined. It was after you told me that we were together, and even though I had no idea if it was true, I thought that if we were I didn't want to ruin that. But, also, I had just found out where I lived and that was my only thought. My only want."

"So, you were being loyal to me even though you didn't know if I told you the truth about us?"

He shook his head as he looked away, afraid of the sadness he would see in her eyes when he told her, "It had nothing to do with any loyalty I felt toward you. It had to do with my own want to find out who I was and where I lived. Who wakes up with no memory and their first thought is to go out and find someone to sleep with anyway? Definitely not mine. In that moment, the only thing I wanted was to get to Greenpoint. That's why I turned her down, not because of you. I wish I can say it was because of you, that I felt some sort of loyalty, but I can't because I didn't feel anything toward you except maybe...consideration. Consideration for what we had before and trying to preserve that. I'm not going to suddenly, with no memory, go running off with someone else. Not unless it's something mutual, that we both decide on if my memory doesn't return and you find out I'm not the same man. Or, if you find out that I never was the man you thought I was, or...or if..." he trailed off as it got hard for him to voice his last concern.

"Or if you realize that you don't, or can't love me back," she finished for him, having picked up what he'd been thinking and afraid to say.

Giving a nod, he picked up the cup and took a sip of the wine. He felt he needed it and something a whole lot stronger. He didn't stop with a sip as he downed the rest of it and got up with a muffled groan. Spotting his shoes by the front door, he walked over and slipped them on before heading toward the kitchen.

As he passed her, he softly said, "I'm sorry, with whatever's going on with your sister and her husband."

He left her standing in the living room as he refilled his cup and then opened the sliding door that led out onto a very small deck. She had refused to allow him to smoke in her house and he respected her wishes as he lit up a cigarette in the cold night as the wind and snow started to sting his face.

As he stood out in the cold, smoking and staring out into the dark alley illuminated only by the soft light from the street lamps reflecting off the fallen snow, he couldn't help but think of the day he'd woken to an empty life. He thought about how he had so many questions and so few answers. He thought of everything he'd learned since that day and his growing fears. It felt like a noose was tightening around his neck, choking the very breath out of him little by little.

The one question that kept coming back to him, over and over again, was what had happened the day before that day? From what he knew of the drugs he'd been given, he knew that none were long lasting. Not one of them would have knocked him out for three days, yet alone one.

He didn't know how, only that it was a gut feeling, but something had happened on Sunday. Saturday night he'd been taken and Monday morning he'd awoken. Sunday was the missing piece. The only important day because he just knew that whatever happened that day was the reason why he was like this now.

It had to be.

There was still so much that made no sense. Now that he knew he had a car, then why did he walk up to the motel? Why didn't they drive?

"Want company?"

Looking over, he watched as Eames pulled her coat around her as she stepped out into the cold night. She was staring out into the dark as she crossed her arms over her chest and shivered.

"You don't need to-"

"I'm afraid of losing you, Bobby," she suddenly spoke as she turned to face him as the wind blew the falling snow around them. "In a way, I already feel like I have. That's why I can't call you Robert. It's why I can't help but feel jealous, and angry, and why this is going to be extremely difficult for me. You have no idea what we've been through, the memories we've made together. I pray one day you will, that you will wake up and this will all be over because you'll remember everything. Every day that goes by and you don't is another day I'm questioning us and it breaks my heart. I'm the only one feeling this, what this is doing to us, while you get to not feel anything except your own frustration."

He went to speak when she cut him off.

"Don't try to deny it, because I know you. I could tell from the things you said, how you said them, and what you didn't say. You didn't ask about my sister because you're not interested. You're only focused on you, with what's going on with you, and rightfully so I suppose, given the circumstances. Maybe I have no right to demand that you give me a little more than consideration, but I know you and know that that's the best I can ask for."

He stood frozen in his place and it wasn't from the cold. He listened to her words, feeling her pain, as he heard what was said but not vocalized. It seemed like before, and now, that he was an ass who put himself ahead of her. He wasn't sure if it was always, but it had to be often. There was no defending himself to her now, he had nothing to defend himself with, as he watched as she turned away and went back inside the warm house.

She knew him, and she knew that all he could give her was a fleeting thought of consideration. He stayed standing in the cold as he felt rooted in his spot, turning that thought over in his head. His emotions were battling within his soul, his mind, as he fought the growing isolation forming around his entire being. The more she accused him, even ever so slightly, the worse it got.

He already felt like leaving, that he was nothing but a burden to her and her family while he dealt with this...with this...

Fuck!

His anger erupted as he hit the side of the house. That only sparked is rage more as he turned and kicked the railing, knocking the snow off it to the ground.

He wanted his life back! All of it, no matter how good or bad it was, no matter what kind of heaven or hell he was living in, he just wanted it all back now.

Leaning over the rail, and gripping it hard in his freezing hands, he tried to push the anger away. The more he tried, the more his eyes stung, and the more his emotions threatened to overtake him. He felt like collapsing, like giving into the anguish and anger and uncertainty and all his fears.

Looking back toward the door, he felt the pain hit him hard in his chest. He was only putting her through more sorrow by being there. She could look at him, hear him talk, laugh, but she couldn't have him. Not the way she wanted; not intimately. She couldn't kiss him, touch him, or have sex with him. They couldn't even share in their memories together. He felt like a nobody, living but not being. And she was hurting so much because of it.

The things he could do to help her ease the pain, to ease his, would only cause them more problems. More heart ache. He could go to her, be with her physically, maybe even sexually, but they would both know it wasn't like before. It wouldn't be filled with love for one another, but more like two strangers with no history and no certainty of the future.

It would be as empty as he felt.

And that would be cruel. He didn't want to pretend either that everything was okay. That one day they would be like they were before, that he would and could love her.

He couldn't let her suffer anymore. As long as he didn't know, as long as he didn't feel what she felt, he shouldn't be there.

He would be back, once he remembered. Once he knew he could let her have him the way she wanted.

He went back inside and found her sitting on the mattress, sipping on a cup of wine and messing with her cell phone. Mascara streaks lined her face from her fallen, silent tears. The sight only reenforced his reasoning.

Without saying anything to her, not trusting himself to keep from saying something that would shatter her world altogether, he crossed the room and picked up his coat. He tugged it on as she got up.

"Are you leaving?"

"You love me," he said as he looked around to make sure he wasn't leaving anything behind.

"Yes, what does that have to do-"

"It has everything to do with why I shouldn't be here right now." He didn't see anything so he picked up his backpack as she walked over to him.

"Bobby, it's storming outside. Why are you leaving? If it's because of what I said-"

"What will happened if I stayed?" he said as he turned to face her. "How many times are you going to look at me like I should know you, or like I should feel what you feel, and want what you want out of me? How many times am I supposed to feel regret, and anger, and this loneliness because there's nothing I can do about any of it? If I stay, the more you're going to hurt from wanting and not getting. I can't do that to you, and to myself. It's not fair, Eames. To either of us."

He turned to leave as she reached out and grabbed him. "Bobby, please, wait," she said, on the verge of tears again. Gripping him hard, she nearly begged, "Don't go. I miss you, I can't let you leave...not again," she whispered to him.

Before, she'd been solid, able to control the desperate emotions inside of her, but he figured with the added mix of him being there, that close to her, and the wine, she had lost all of her reserve and strength to hold it all in.

"It hurts," she was saying through barely contained tears.

Swallowing the lump in his throat, he asked, "Wh-...what hurts?"

"Everything," she said as the tears slipped from her eyes. "Seeing you here...wanting to do nothing but kiss you and hold you-"

Closing his eyes, he shook his head as he felt his anger clawing at his control again. She was standing there, gripping him in fear of him leaving her again, feeling desperately lost without him. All he could feel was anger at seeing her that way, and knowing that he couldn't give her what she wanted. It hurt him too, but in a very different way.

It was maddening.

Grabbing her hands, he went to pull them off his coat as she pushed up on her toes and kissed him.

It startled him that he gasped before stepping back, breaking contact as they stared at one another.

As he stared at her, he could tell that she was holding so much in. Her love and anger, her pain and sorrow. It broke his heart to know that she held so much love for him that she would throw herself like that at him. She was willing to give him it all, risk it all, everything, to have him again.

And that was what he was to her; he was her everything. He saw that now. He wasn't just a man she was with, he was the only man who held her life in the palm of his hands. For some reason, that broke his reserve. To know that someone valued him that much. That someone needed him so desperately in order to go on.

He didn't know how it happened, but one moment he stepped toward the door to leave and the next he dropped his bag and pushed her against the wall to kiss her back.

He could blame his warring emotions, his buzzed head, or his uncertainty with life, but what it all came down to was his sudden need to be with someone. His sudden desire to feel alive, that he wasn't a nobody with no life. To feel connected.

She was there, she wanted him, and he wanted her but not for the same reasons as her. When she kissed him back furiously, it was with a purpose, with a love and knowledge of the man she loved. She knew what made him go crazy, what fueled his passion and lust as she pulled his tongue and lips from his and attacked his ear, forcing a groan out of him as he felt his desire growing.

Her hands pushed at his shoulders, shoving the coat down his arms and off his body as his lips found her neck. Once his hands were free he pushed them under her shirt, feeling her soft smooth skin. As she tried to push herself off the wall, he kept pushing her back into it as he was nearly blinded with want and need.

"Bobby, the bed..." she gasped out.

He groaned from having to break contact but finally backed off enough to pick her up and walked the four feet to the mattress where he took them both to the bed. She knew exactly where to touch him to draw the moans and groans from his throat as he was still figuring out which spot on her neck made her shiver beneath him. It was frustrating, the not knowing, because she was quickly working him up while she was still able to think straight.

Before she was even ready, he pushed up onto his knees and pulled his shirt off before helping her with hers. Pushing her back down, he took her breasts into his hands and mouth, drawing a sigh out of her as she squirmed under him.

He knew he was rushing it, that he wasn't taking his time to explore, to make love to her, and to satisfy her not only sexually but emotionally. He was afraid if he lingered, if he took his sweet time and made her feel complete, that she would think he was back. That he was there, and that he loved her again when all this was to him was something physical; something to indulge in and to take his mind off the anger.

He had the rest of her clothes off in seconds before he took off his jeans. His boxers didn't make it all the way down his thighs before he was taking her. She let out a near yelp and hiss of pain as he forced his way through the tightness that surrounded him. She hadn't been ready and it had been abrupt, that it hurt, but he couldn't stop himself.

She had her hands on him, moaning and groaning against him softly as he kept his pace fast and hard. Feeling her nails scrapping his back, it drove at his nerves, his frustration. Pushing up on his knees again, he grabbed her hands and pinned them down with one hand over her head, keeping them there as he buried his face in her neck and drove in harder, faster, and in silence until it was over.

She kept it all in, her pleas of pleasure, as he let out a sharp gasp then groan as he came. Finally releasing her hands, he left her body and rolled onto his back as he closed his eyes, and cursed himself.

He felt physically exhausted and satisfied, but mentally, he felt disgusted with himself for giving into her like that. It had felt...strange, like he was alone even though they had been together.

He couldn't help but think that they had had sex like lonely strangers, silent and apart. So much so that he couldn't look at her as he got up and pulled his clothes on.

She didn't say anything for a long time until he was pulling on his pants. "You're leaving?"

"I have to," he simply said as he zipped up his zipper.

"Why, Bobby?"

He didn't know if she was asking him why he was leaving, or why he had let himself lose it like that. Figuring it was the former, he said, "I know that this isn't all you need...and I can't give you the rest."

Meeting her eyes, the pain and hurt he saw in them killed him. He felt dead, and maybe that was what he was with no memory, with no life. He felt like a dead man.

"I'm sorry," he said as the guilt pounded down on him like waves from a rolling, dark, sea.

He grabbed his coat and backpack off the floor and didn't take the time to pull either on before he opened the front door and left.

* * *

_Major Case Squad_

Hollow, that was what she was feeling as she sat in the conference room, lost in her thoughts of the night before. She'd felt this way before, long ago, when the love of her life had died. It was a hollowness that ripped at her heart and drove it to the pit of her stomach. The pain she'd felt hearing that Bobby had lost his memory was nothing compared to the pain she'd felt when he left her last night.

She shook her head at that thought. To say the man who'd left her last night was Bobby wasn't correct. It was just the only name she had for him. For his voice and his eyes, his smile and his body, his smell. However, the person that had kissed her, that had taken her on the mattress on the floor, that was not Bobby. It had been this Robert that had taken him over the moment he'd awoken without a single memory of Bobby, of Bobby's life and experiences, of Bobby's feelings and thoughts, or of Bobby's love of her.

She didn't know Robert, and with that knowledge she realized that she now didn't know Bobby. The man that had been with her last night had felt like a stranger, and that had caused all the pain and sadness that had rocked her last night after he had left.

She had laid there, her only warmth and comfort coming from the fire that raged in the fireplace, and let it all out the only way she could, through tears. She wanted to do more; she wanted to go out and find him just to hit him over and over again as she screamed out her anguish at him.

Then, she reasoned that it wasn't his fault. He didn't want to stay. He had tried to leave and he even, in his own way, tried to warn her, to tell her that he wasn't the man she so desperately longed for. That he wasn't her Bobby.

She had kissed him first. She had tempted him, held onto him, and nearly demanded for him to be with her.

She had brought it on herself, but that didn't change the fact that she also felt so much anger toward Robert for leaving. She understood why, and because she understood was another reason that it hurt so bad. Another reason why she felt so hollow.

Logan waved a hand in front of her, saying, "Earth to Eames, come in."

Alex blinked back and looked up at him in confusion. "What?"

Logan smiled a little as he said, "Were you daydreaming on me?"

"No, course not, just thinking."

"About?"

She shook her head as she looked at the files spread out over the table. "Has dental come back yet?"

Thankfully Logan wasn't the type of guy to try and pry into her private life and thoughts, he seemed to be glad that she changed the topic. "Yeah. The vic has been positively ID'd as Brenda Hanson."

"How about prints from the wallet?"

"Only Goren's were found. Eames, you know this. You were the first one to read over CSU's findings of the scene."

Alex knew that, but she was having a hard time focusing on anything other than last night. Picking up the file again, she re-read it, this time really trying to focus on the words and their meaning. Then a thought formed in her head as it begun to clear. "Who bailed her out?"

Logan looked up from the file he was reading and realization dawned in him as he picked up what she was thinking. Reaching over, he grabbed his cell and placed a call. "Hey, Leanna, it's Mike Logan. I'm doing okay...Yeah, Major Case..." he smiled a little and Alex saw his face slightly redden. Logan glanced over at her and cleared his throat as he said a little too sternly into the phone, all business now, "Listen, I need to know who posted bail on a victim of ours. Yeah, a Brenda Hanson. It would've been two weeks ago. I can wait, thanks." He leaned back in the chair as he asked her, "What?"

Alex just shook her head at him.

"It was a long time ago, when I was with the 2-7."

"Why are you defending yourself to me, I'm not your girlfriend."

Logan went to say something, probably some smart-ass reply, when he sat up as he said into the phone, "Yeah, I'm here...Are you sure?" he asked as he wrote the name down in his notepad. "Thanks again...Oh, I would but...No, no it's...Yeah, I'm seeing someone. Okay. You too," he said before the shut his phone. At catching her look, he said again, "A long time ago."

Alex just rolled her eyes before asking, "Who posted the bail?"

Logan smirked as he told her, "Guess."

"Nicole?"

"Yep, but not as Nicole, but as Elizabeth Hitchens."

Alex felt that they finally had her, and at the same time that they could help in Bobby's defense. They could now prove that Nicole had contact with their victim. It wasn't a solid acquittal of Bobby's indictment, but it got them that much closer to proving his innocence.

What wasn't getting them closer to proving his innocence was on the second page of the report from CSU. Detective Fin from SVU had the lab run tests on the sheets and blanket at the motel and they'd just received the results back. The hospital found no evidence of sexual intercourse, but the lab had.

That knowledge twisted her stomach and made her body ache with anger and disgust. It was a good thing that Bobby had no memory. For him to know he'd been violated again would've been too much. She dreaded telling him, of him finding out, but she knew he would have to know sooner or later.

She opted for later as she shoved the report back into the file and rubbed at her suddenly pounding head. She needed caffeine, and aspirin, and more caffeine. Probably some food too as she looked at her watch; it was going on one in the afternoon. "Lunch?"

Logan dropped the file and stood while pushing his chair back. "About time you offered," he teased as he grabbed his jacket off the back of the chair and pulled it on.

As they headed toward the elevators, they passed Barek in the hall as she escorted the uniform officer who had been stationed outside of Caleb Cunningham's hospital room the night he had been murdered. "What's going on?" Alex asked her as Logan continued to the elevators, leaving them to talk alone.

"Just some routine followup questions," Barek told her as she gestured for the officer to walk ahead of her into the squad room. "How's your case going?"

"Good. We found out that Nicole was the one who bailed Brenda out of jail two weeks ago."

"Where're you heading now?"

"Lunch," she said as she gestured to Logan who was impatiently waiting for her to hurry up.

"Well, if you can wait a little longer, I was going to see if it was okay with the Captain for you to sit in on the interview."

Alex was surprised by that seeing how Deakins and Barek were working the case together. She didn't want to push her Captain aside, but at the same time she wanted to see what this interview was all about.

"You and Logan were the first ones to talk to him at the scene. You would notice any discrepancies."

"I'd love to. Logan," she called down the hall. "We're sitting on the interview before we go."

Logan groaned as he started heading back toward the squad room. "Fine, but you're buying," he said as he pointed at her.

Alex smiled as she turned back to Barek. "He only thinks I'm buying," she told her as they all walked back into the squad room.

"Officer McBride," Barek said as she shut the door and looked at the cop. "I'm Detective Barek, and you remember Detective Eames."

McBride smiled at the both of them as he took a sip of water out of a small water cooler cup. "Yea, I remember. You were at the hospital. You and that other Detective, Logan."

Alex pulled out a chair and sat down while Barek did the same. Even though Barek had told her that this was nothing but a routine interview, she got the feeling that it was a lot more than that.

Letting Barek take the lead since it was her case, and interview, Alex sat back and waited to see where this was headed.

Barek opened the file she had in her hands and proceeded to ask a few standard questions about the time, about Bobby's appearance at the hospital and the words exchanged between the two, and then the time Bobby left.

Then Barek asked, "Do you identify this woman," as she pulled out a photo and placed it in front of him.

Alex saw that it was the grainy photo from the surveillance footage her and Logan were able to get from the hospital.

McBride looked it over and then shook his head, saying, "It could be the nurse. I'm not sure, it's hard to tell."

"What about now?" Barek asked as she placed a mugshot of Nicole Wallace in front of him.

At seeing that picture, McBride stiffened and then tried to hide his reaction as he leaned back in the chair and pushed the photo away. "No, that's not her."

Barek asked, "Are you sure?"

"Yeah, that's not the nurse."

"Why do you think that I'm asking about the nurse?"

McBride was caught off guard by that question, as he should be. Barek never once said the word ''nurse" while asking him about her. "I just assumed-"

"No, see," Alex said, picking up where Barek was heading with this interview. "You know it's who she was referring to because it is her. The nurse you saw in the hall, who you told to go into Caleb's room, was this woman," she said as she pushed the mugshot of Nicole back over to McBride.

The officer shifted in the seat as he sighed, saying, "It could be, alright. I don't know. It was lights out, dark. It was hard to tell what she looked like."

"But you know what she sounded like," Alex said.

"Her accent, McBride," Barek said, "What would you call it?"

McBride leaned on the table and rubbed at his head.

"British? Or how about Australian?"

"Australian, I think," he finally answered as he pushed the photo away again.

"And how long was she in the room exactly before she called out that the vic was dead?"

McBride sighed into his hand as he shook his head. "A few minutes, I guess. Look, I don't-"

"You were told to stand guard outside of Caleb's hospital room, yet you left your post when Detective Goren arrived. Why?" Barek asked, keeping the cop off guard and making him more agitated.

"Come on officer, she didn't make it worth your while?" Alex asked as she stood and leaned over the table, getting into the officer's face.

McBride suddenly stood as he said, "I'm done here. If you have any more questions, you talk to my lawyer and union rep."

"Don't go too far, Officer," Barek told him as he went to open the door.

McBride glared at the both of them before jerking the door open and stalking out.

"He sold Bobby out," Alex said as she watched McBride leave the squad room.

"I don't know why. How could she turn McBride against one of his own?"

Alex sighed heavily as she told her, "You don't know Nicole. And, you weren't here to know Bobby's rep with the other boys in blue either."

"What's that supposed to mean?"

"It means, they don't look upon him like a brother. It would've been a piece of cake to get a cop to turn on him," Alex told her before she left the room.

After they filled Deakins in on the interview and what they suspected of Officer McBride, her and Logan finally left the squad room to get lunch.

The moment she was out in the cold, walking the two blocks to the sandwich shop they both enjoyed, Alex's thoughts strayed once again to the night before and how she felt that it had changed everything.

What that meant for the both of them, she didn't know yet, and she felt too afraid to figure it out. Not once did she worry or think about where Bobby had gone or what he was now doing. If she had, maybe she would have noticed the man she passed on the street who'd accidentally bumped into her on his way to One Police Plaza.

TBC...


	13. Friends?

A/N: Okay, to avoid confusion, the first scene takes place after Bobby left Alex's apartment in the previous chapter, and then goes from there.

Also, please don't kill me, or Bobby! The way I see it, Bobby's in a pretty vulnerable place right now because he has no defenses like he would if he had a memory. He's allowed, I believe, to make mistakes. He's allowed to question himself and his life and the people in it.

Okay, and on that note, enjoy!

* * *

_Adrian's_  
_Park Slope, Brooklyn_

He'd been at the pub off 5th Avenue, which was situated between a diner and a coffee shop, for half an hour before she arrived. During the time he had two beers and tons of time to think about what he was going to ask of her.

He saw her enter and look around as she pulled off her gloves. From his spot at a booth in the back of the pub, he could see her but she couldn't see him. It was too dark in the corner. Getting up, he headed toward her until their eyes met; waving her back, he stood and waited for her to walk up to him.

"Thanks for coming."

"I almost didn't," Melanie told him as she let him help her with her coat. "If I had known you were going to drag me out into a snowstorm I never would've given you my number."

She was teasing him, he could tell, but he could also tell that she was nervous about something. Once they were seated, and he ordered himself another beer and her an Irish coffee, he asked, "You've seen the news, haven't you?"

She looked startled but then sighed as she gave a nod. "CNN. It's worldwide now. They're calling you a fugitive."

"And you still came?" Looking around the pub, toward the door, and at the other patrons, he didn't think he spotted any cops hanging around.

"No one knows I"m here, Robert. I didn't call the police. I came because I don't think you did it. After you left the library, I did a history search of what you were researching on the internet. You don't know who you are, do you?"

He took a sip of the beer as he fought down his panic. There was no lie coming from her; at least he didn't think there was. He didn't see it in her. All he saw was genuine honesty. "No, I don't. I woke up Monday morning with no memory of my life. Then, next thing I know, I'm wanted for two murders that I don't remember ever committing."

She was quiet for a moment before asking, "Do you think you did it?"

He shrugged as he honestly told her, "I have no idea what I've done. Maybe, maybe not, that's what I'm trying to figure out. No matter the outcome, I want to know the truth."

"How about friends? Is there anyone you can call who can help you?" she asked.

"I don't know, I mean..." he trailed off as he thought about Eames. He wasn't sure what was going on with them; and if he thought about it too hard, he felt the fear of that night creeping into his heart and head. He was afraid that he'd ruined every amount of trust she had in him because of what he'd done. He had left...He shouldn't have left. "There's someone but...I uh, I've got an address book with a lot of names and numbers. I'm not sure who I can trust. Who are friends and who would be willing to sell me out, you know."

Melanie reached out and stilled the hand he was tapping on the table. Looking up at her, he stared into her eyes as she told him, "I can help. If you want, I'll call the numbers for you."

It took him a moment to get over his shock before he asked "You would do that?" He had invited her there hoping for her help, but he didn't think it would be so easy.

"Yes, of course. Like I told you before, we're friends. And you need help."

"I'm a fugitive. You could get into some serious trouble...Aiding me, that's a felony."

That had been something he'd thought about after leaving Eames. She had risked it all for him as well by offering to hide in from the police, in her own home. Eames had also committed a felony by helping him. But, she was a cop, so maybe she was also playing him. There could have been someone staked out on her place, watching them, watching him, and who could have followed him from Rockaway. He had taken extra precautions on his way to Park Slope in order to ditch any tail that might've been on him.

Was he being paranoid? Absolutely. Did he care? Not at all. The way he saw it, paranoia was going to save his life.

"Then I guess we have to make sure that I'm not caught. I won't tell anyone if you don't."

As he silently agreed, he realized that she either believed in his innocence that much, or she really liked him that much. It had to be both, or else she could be crazy. She didn't seem crazy.

They finished off their drinks, paid, and then left the pub together. As he adjusted the backpack on his shoulder, she adjusted her purse, pulling it tighter around the front of her body.

"I live two blocks over," she told him as they headed down the snow covered sidewalk.

He didn't object or complain as he silently followed. There was a YMCA down the street, and that was where he had planned on staying before he remembered Melanie giving him her number after finding out where Eames lived.

They weathered the cold and snow for two blocks until they came upon a four-story apartment building. Melanie used a key to open the lobby door and then headed toward the staircase as she begun ridding herself of her gloves and wool cap.

"I'm on the second floor." On the second floor, she went to the first door on the left and unlocked it, telling him, "Don't mind the mess, or Oscar. He's harmless."

Wondering about who Oscar was, he shut the door behind him and locked it as he looked around the living room. In the corner, lying on a small dog bed, was a pug. He lifted his head up, blinked at him, and then laid it back down.

Smiling, he followed her into the kitchen as he said, "Not much of a guard dog."

Melanie chuckled as she said, "No, he's not. He's too mellow if you ask me, but he does like to cuddle. Drink?"

"Uh, coffee?"

"Two coffees, coming right up," she said as she prepared the coffee machine.

He took the opportunity to look around her place. It was a small, one bedroom, with lots of plants, colors, pictures, and books. She had about as many books lining her bookshelves as him.

"Those are my father's," she called out to him as he picked up a pair of old reading glasses. "He forgot them the last time he was here."

"And you haven't returned them?" he asked as he placed them back where they had been on the bookshelf. When she didn't answer, he looked over at her and saw the tears in her eyes.

She gave him a tensed smile as she turned and opened a cabinet to pull down two coffee cups. "I had been sick that day and he came by in the morning, on his way to work. He wanted to make sure that I had plenty to drink and eat. He made me soup and tea, gave me a kiss, and then left for work. A couple of hours later, I'm watching TV and...and there it was. The twin towers on fire...He called me right before the south tower fell."

He stilled as he closed his eyes and rubbed at his head. Memories of that day flashed in his head and he said, "He worked at the World Trade Center."

"Yeah," she told him in a soft, weak voice. "We only had enough time to tell each other that we loved one another, but that was all that mattered."

"I'm sorry," he told her as he walked back into the kitchen. "I didn't remember it before, but now...I see it, in my head, and-...I'm sorry."

She gave him a brave smile as she handed him a cup full of black coffee. "It's okay. I'm glad I told you," she said as she placed her hand on his arm.

The tears hadn't completely went away, but she was doing a good job of pushing them away, of keeping them most of them from falling. A few tears had slipped down her cheeks.

He stared down into her eyes, feeling a lot of things swirling around in his gut that he probably shouldn't have been feeling. There was a lot of empathy, but also something else that shouldn't have been there.

He shouldn't be enjoying that touch on his arm, or the way she looked at him, or the thought of reaching up to wipe her tears away, or of leaning down ever so slightly to ease her sorrow with a kiss. That was dangerous territory, especially since he had just left Eames not too long ago after giving into her. That had been unexpected, the same with whatever it was that was between him and Melanie.

He should have excused himself, thanked her for the coffee and the offer to help, and then left. That was what he should have done. Instead, he gave into impulse and reached up to cup her face. Running his thumb over her cheek, wiping a fresh tear away, he told her, "It's okay." He didn't know what that was supposed to mean, but it seemed to help.

She reached up to take his hand in hers as she smiled slightly. "I know, thanks, Robert."

He didn't know what she was thanking him for, maybe just for him being there and sympathizing. Whatever it was, she seemed okay now.

He slowly withdrew his hand but she kept a hold of it. The feel was driving him crazy, stirring his emotions and his desire nearly to the breaking point. If he continued this, there would be a point of no return. He would give into her, the same as he'd given into Eames earlier that night.

He briefly wondered if he was always like this. If it had always been so easy for him to fall over himself in the company of a woman or if all this was new. If this wasn't new, then maybe Eames had the right to move out and leave him because he suddenly found himself not caring that he'd been with Eames only hours before. And that wasn't right.

Who are you, he questioned himself as he backed away. They finally let go of each other to move to the table where they sipped at the coffee and tried to make sense of what was happening.

He shed his jacket, hoodie, and backpack as the heat in the apartment started to get to him. Wearing nothing but his black t-shirt, he felt like taking it off as well as he wiped a line of sweat off his forehead. "It's really hot in here."

Melanie held out her hand and said, "Let me see your address book."

He picked up his backpack from where he'd dropped it by the chair. Opening the large compartment, he pulled out the black address book and handed it to her.

As she opened it and flipped through the pages, she gasped, "Wow, you know everyone."

He smirked as he rubbed at his jaw and chin scratching at the itching of the beard growth. "Yeah, it's completely full."

"I don't know where to start," she said as she pulled out her cell phone.

"Hang on," he said as he reached for it. Flipping through the pages, he said, "This guy uh, Lewis, I found out that he's a friend of-of uh, of mine. Start with him."

She dialed the number and waited. "I got the answering machine at a car shop. He's a mechanic."

"Call the other number, that might be his cell or home phone," he told her.

"Anything you want me to try and find out from him for you?" she asked as she hung up and dialed the other number.

After giving it some thought, he said, "I need to know if I can trust him. If I can, then I'll talk to him myself."

He sipped on the coffee as he listened to the one-sided conversation. He couldn't help but feeling amused as he smirked when she told Lewis that she was a cop.

"So, you're not going to help-...Sir, I understand that he's your friend." She looked up at him and smiled, mouthing "He's defending you", before returning to the phone. "If you see him or hear from him, will you give me a call? Sir, don't talk to me like that!" she exclaimed.

He started laughing as he motioned for the phone.

She handed it to him before she started laughing herself, informing him of what Lewis had said, "He told me to go fuck myself."

Putting the phone up to his ear, he caught the tail end of the rest that he told Melanie to go do. "Uh, Lewis?" he spoke into the phone, cutting the other guy off.

There was a moment of silence before he guy said, "Bobby?"

"Yeah, hey, uh...I'm sorry for that, but that was a uh, a friend that I had call you. I just...I had to know if you would talk to the cops."

"You are the cops, man. And you know that I would never betray you. You're like my brother, Bobby. What's going on anyway? This is crazy shit they're saying about you."

"It's a long story, look, I don't have time to explain but...Has there been anyone asking about me, any real cops?"

"They stopped by yesterday. A woman detective and that Captain of yours. I guess they were seeing if I'd seen or heard from you. Of course I hadn't, but I told them if I did they would never know. You need anything? A car?"

"How about a lawyer. Do I have one?"

Lewis was silent a moment before saying, "You know plenty, I'm sure you have your pick."

"But is there anyone that I have already?"

Lewis got quiet again before he asked, "Are you okay? You should know the answer to these questions."

Sighing he closed his eyes as he said, "I need a name, Lewis. I can't...I don't remember their names."

It took a minute, but finally Lewis gave him one. "The only guy I remember you talking about is named Carver. He's an ADA. That's all I know."

"Thanks, man. I might not talk to you again for a while, okay. Just know that I'm okay, and whatever happens...happens."

"Take care of yourself, Bobby. If you need anything, call me. Even if it's to post bail."

He smiled into the phone and said his thanks and then hung up. "Carver."

Melanie flipped to the 'C' section and skimmed through. "Here. Ron Carver."

She read him the number and he put it into his cell phone but didn't hit 'send'. He was too nervous.

"What's wrong?"

Breathing out, he rubbed at his head as he said, "What if he tells me that he can't help me? That there's nothing he can do...What if he tells me that I'm guilty?"

"What if he tells you that you're innocent and that he'll do whatever he can to prove it?"

He stared over at her and felt himself smile. Yeah, he could tell him that too. He got up and refilled the cup with more coffee. Sitting back down, he pulled out his pack of cigarettes as he asked, "You mind?"

"Only if you don't mind me snatching it up to take a puff off it."

He glanced over at her as he lit it, took a long drag off it, before handing it over. blowing out the smoke, he said, "Just, don't bogart it."

"Never," she said as she took the cigarette out of his hand and took a drag. She let it out while closing her eyes, saying, "I haven't had a smoke in three years. God, that's better than sex."

He chuckled as he said, "Then you're not having the right kind of sex if that's better."

She started laughing as she handed it back to him. "I think you're right. So, are you remembering anything?"

"No, not a whole lot. I only had one memory return and stay, the other...it, uh...slipped away. I don't know if it'll return or not, or if this is all I'll ever get, just bits and pieces without the whole picture. Or, you know, sometimes I think, what if the memories return but not the emotions attached to them. I could remember everything but that doesn't mean that I'll feel the same way once they do. It's not just memories that are lost but the feelings that had grown out of them. I don't know if I'm the same man I was before or if I ever will be, and that's what confuses me and scares me the most."

"You don't know if you'll love the same people you once loved before? Or if you'll even want the same life you had before?"

Peering over at her, he felt himself smile. "Exactly. You get it."

"It's not hard to get."

"Eames didn't get it," he softly mumbled, mostly to himself but he knew that she heard.

"Who's Eames?"

"My uh, I guess she's my girlfriend. Her names Alex Eames...I've been calling her by her last name and don't know why."

She frowned at him as she reached over and took the cigarette out of his hand. "You're not sure if she's your girlfriend?" she asked as she took a puff off it before handing it back.

"Well, I know we were," he said before he took another long drag off the smoke. "She lives with me, but, she also just rented out a new place far away from where we live now. She's moving out and-"

"And you don't know if you two broke up or not."

Giving a nod, he took another drag off the smoke before handing to over to her before she could snatch it out from between his fingers. "She says we're still together. I want to believe her. Then I think, what if we did break up and she's taking advantage of my condition."

"I couldn't imagine," she said, "not knowing anything about my life and the people in it. If I'm with someone or not and who I can trust and who I can't. Must be frustrating."

"You have no idea," he told her as he took a drink of the coffee, finishing it off. Sitting the cup down, he picked up the cell phone as he told her, "I think I'm ready now." He stood as he said, "I would rather do this in private."

"I'll leave," she told him as she stood. "I need to shower anyway, and get ready for bed. It's late." As she went to walk by him, she stopped and leaned into him, placing a soft kiss on his cheek.

He watched as she disappeared around the corner; the pug slowly getting up to follow. Sitting back down, he stared at the floor, listening to Melanie down the hall as he debated about once again to leave. He could get up right now and walk out like he did with Eames.

Shaking his head, decided to stay. He was getting too tired to run again. All he wanted to do was make the phone call and then go to bed.

Flipping the cell open, he pressed 'send' and waited for an answer.

After he made the call, he felt better. ADA Ron Carver wasn't just a nice guy, and a friend, but he was already prepared to defend him. All he had to do was turn himself in. It would be best to get his amnesia documented before more time passed.

He agreed; plus, he was running out of options. He needed to start dealing with this before the entire NYPD came after him.

"How'd it go?"

He looked up from the table as he stuck a newly lit cigarette in his mouth. Melanie was stopped at the entrance to the kitchen. He tried not to stare, but it was nearly impossible. He was a man after all, and she was a very attractive woman...who wasn't wearing anything but a towel wrapped around her body. Her hair was up in another towel and she suddenly bent over to take it off her head. His eyes traveled over her bent body, down to her long legs and bare feet, before returning to her face.

She was giving him an amused look as she rubbed the towel over her hair before tossing it on a chair. "Well?"

He blinked back as he asked, "Well what?"

"How'd the phone call go?" she asked again, this time highly amused.

"Oh, uh, good. He's already defending me, actually. He's just been waiting for me to come in to make it official." He gave her the once over one more time before getting up to rinse his cup out. "I'll sleep on the couch, if-"

"Robert," she said the moment he felt her move up behind him.

Her hand was on his forearm and he had to swallow the gasp that had wanted to escape his lips. A tremor ran up his arm as she caressed over his arm, making him turn around to face her.

She was mere inches from him; so close he could smell her intoxicating scent. She took the cigarette out of his mouth, placed it on the counter, and then that hand was back on his face. She trailed it over his jaw, causing a shiver to run down his back.

"Don't," he said as he reached up to grab her hand. "Don't make me do this."

"I'm not making you do anything," she softly told him as she leaned into him, pressing into his chest with hers.

It was getting harder to breathe, to think, as he lost focus for a moment. She was driving him crazy, but...but..."I can't...I-"

"You're with Eames."

"Yes, at least...I think," he weakly said as she peered up into his eyes with that look. The one filled with so much want, need, and desire. He hadn't moved away; he should have moved away.

She didn't have to push up on her toes to kiss him, just tilt her head up slightly and her lips were on his. And he still didn't back away. he didn't gasp in surprise at the sudden move. He stood there, in her kitchen, and let her do it.

Eventually he backed away, but not before he let out a groan of pleasure, before he kissed her back, before he let his tongue slip into her mouth, tasting her. Then, raising his hands up, he cupped her face and pulled back.

Taking a breath, he shook his head, eyes closed, as he beat his warring emotions down and said again, "I can't."

Melanie was silent for a moment before she asked, "Because of her?"

"Because of Alex...yes. I'm sorry," he apologized without knowing why.

"Don't be, now you know."

He opened his eyes as he stared down into hers. "I-I uh...What? Now I know?"

"That maybe you do still love her, even though you can't remember it." She smiled a little as she stepped back. "She's a lucky woman. The couch pulls out, I'll get you a pillow and sheet. It's too hot in here for a blanket."

He could only nod as she turned and walked out, leaving him alone to think. Was that a test? Did she just test him...? Taking a deep breath, he closed his eyes and let out a groan.

_Women_. Shaking his head, he grabbed a glass out of a cabinet and filled it with water. He downed two glasses before picking the cigarette back up and heading into the living room.

He moved the coffee table and pulled the couch out. Oscar made it back into the living room and with seeing the bed pulled out, he jumped up on it.

Looking at the little dog, he smirked as he took his shoes off and laid down.

"Looks like Oscar found a new friend," Melanie said as she walked back into the room, this time dressed, and carrying a pillow and two sheets.

"Guess so," he said as the dog rolled over against him. He reached down and petted the dog as she threw the pillow at him. He caught it while laughing and stuck it behind his head. "Thanks for letting me stay."

"Anytime," she said as she leaned down and yanked the smoke out of his mouth and then proceeded to walk away with it. "Goodnight!"

He had to admit that if he didn't know anything about Alex Eames, he would have easily given himself to that woman.

It took him awhile to finally sleep, but once he did, it was clouded with dark shadows and figures, voices that sounded foreign yet familiar as he searched through the dark for the face behind the voices. No matter how hard he searched, how loud he screamed, he couldn't find them.

They were lost, the same as him, in the dark abyss.

* * *

_One Police Plaza_

He approached the public entrance as a woman pushed the door open. Reaching out, he held it for her before slipping inside and right into the lobby.

There wasn't much commotion, only a few civilians complaining at the circular desk in the middle of the open floor. So far, he'd been undetected but knew it wouldn't last long. It was the reason he was there; to be known.

Stepping up into the line, he looked around and noticed a blackboard against the wall to his right. He stepped over to it and read the names of the departments and which floor they were located on. The one he was looking for was on the eleventh.

"Sir, you need a visitor's badge if you want to-" the woman at the desk stopped talking as he turned around.

Their eyes met and he saw the shock and then worry in her crackling blue eyes. The older woman looked over at a police officer leaning on the counter. The cop looked from the woman to him and straightened, hand moving to his gun.

At seeing all of this silent exchange, he slowly took a step toward the desk. The officer took that move as a threat as he drew his gun down on him.

"Stop right there," the cop yelled with his gun pointed at him.

He stopped and instantly raised his hands up to his shoulders.

"Down, now! Down, all the way!"

He obeyed the order as he did as he was told, getting down on his knees.

"All the way down! Now!"

Laying flat on the floor, he felt another officer who'd been behind him grab his right wrist and jerk it around to his back. The cuff bit into the skin of his right wrist as his other hand was twisted back to join it. The cop who'd been giving him the orders was standing above him, gun still trained on his head, as the other cop frisked him. He even knocked his Yankees cap off his head to make sure nothing was hidden in it. With not finding any weapons on him, they radioed it in, spoke a few words to a couple of other officers, and then pulled him to his feet.

He didn't say anything as they half carried, half pushed him toward an elevator.

Neither one of the cops spoke to him as they rode the elevator up to the eleventh floor. As the doors opened, he took in the walls, the glass case, the people and recognized none of it. It was all foreign to him.

He was led into an open squad room and he looked around for Alex and didn't see her anywhere. However, everyone was looking at him. Every detective, uniform, and civilian was staring at him as he was led down the middle of the room and then down a hall and into a small interrogation room.

They weren't wasting anytime, he thought as they sat him in a chair and then undid the cuffs. He figured since they all knew who he was there was no reason to process him into the computer. All of his prints and personal information and DNA had to be in the system anyway, so there was no point.

He watched as the officers left and shut the door. Glancing around the room and then looking into the two-way mirror, he stared at his reflection as he wondered if there was anyone standing on the other side, watching him.

Rubbing at his wrist where the cuff had pinched his skin, he leaned on the table and waited.

* * *

Alex had returned to the squad room with a bag containing her sub sandwich in her hands when she heard the whispers. Deakins was in his office on the phone, Carver was heading down the hall toward the interrogation rooms along with DA McCoy, and Barek was talking to the department's registered psychiatrist, Dr. Elizabeth Olivet.

"What's going on?" she asked Logan as she pulled off her coat and hung it on the hanger.

Logan had dropped his bag on his desk before talking to one of the other detectives. He walked back over to her with a startled look on his face.

"Logan?" she asked, getting frustrated that no one was talking to her.

He shook his head slightly as he told her, "It's Goren. He's here."

Alex stared at him as her own shock shook her body. "What? What'd you mean he's here?"

"He's here, in interrogation. I guess he turned himself in," Logan told her as he walked over to Barek and Olivet.

She looked toward the hallway as she started for it. Before she could get too far, a voice called out after her, stopping her in her pursuit. It was Deakins. Alex turned to face him as he stopped in front of her.

Motioning for her to follow him, he said, "In my office. Now, detective."

Taking one last look down the hall, at the closed interrogation room door, she sighed and did as ordered and followed Deakins to his office. She was met by Logan, Barek, and Dr. Olivet. Alex knew the psychiatrist, having seen her a few times after her abduction four months ago. They shook hands, giving each other polite smiles, before turning to face Captain Deakins.

Addressing everyone in the office, Deakins said, "I've invited Dr. Olivet to observe the interview-"

"If it's only an interview than why is he in an interrogation room?" she sternly asked.

Deakins looked to her and explained, "My orders. It'll be easier that way. Now, as I was saying, Olivet will observe then once the interview is over, she'll do a psych test to determine his mental state and to document, and verify, his amnesia. Any questions?"

Alex looked around and saw no objections; she also voiced none as she turned to leave the office.

"Alex," Deakins said, stopping her. "A word in private." He waited for everyone to file out of the office before leaning on his desk, arms crossed over his chest. "You can't be in there."

Alex stiffened as she asked, "How about to observe?"

Shaking his head, he told her, "You can't. IA needs to speak with you."

Alex felt a sudden tremor in her gut as she asked, "About what?"

Deakins glanced out into the squad room, telling her, "An anonymous tip came in, and it's one that can't be easily ignored." Looking back at her, he said, "Just tell me that you weren't harboring a fugitive."

Alex could barely move as stared at Deakins. "Captain...?"

"Don't act like you don't know what I'm talking about, Eames. The caller was too specific; so much so that I'm going to have the tech guys run a check on the phone number of the tipster." He took a breath before asking, "Were you, or were you not, with Goren last night? Have you been helping him evade arrest?"

When she went to speak, and nothing came out, Deakins cursed under his breath as he worked hard not to lose his temper.

"We knew that you were speaking privately with him yesterday morning. That was permitted by the Brass in trying to get him to trust us, to lure him out, that was excusable. However, what isn't excusable is one of my detectives letting a known fugitive stay at her house."

Finally, she said, "What was I to do? This is Bobby-"

"And you're a cop!" Deakins yelled as his temper got the best of him. "I don't care who he is, he's wanted. There's a warrant out for his arrest, and you hid him! That's obstruction, harboring, and-"

"I get it, Captain," she said in hast, cutting him off.

"No, I don't think you do." Deakins pushed off his desk and went over to the blinds.

Alex looked out and caught sight of everyone, including Logan and Barek watching right before the blinds shut.

When he turned back to face her, Deakins glare made her swallow hard with fear of what was to come. She'd never seen his anger focused on her before, it was scary.

"Eames, you're a Detective Sergeant. You're senior to every First Grade detective in the entire NYPD. You're to set the example, to raise the bar, and you're usually the one to do just that. Until now. You exercised extremely poor judgement, detective. One that could cost you everything. For christ's sake, Alex, can he really say jump and you say how high? Will you honestly follow him blindly anywhere, even to the end of your career?"

She couldn't speak; no words could be formed that wasn't a plea of some sort, and her only defense would be the nails into her own coffin. She didn't know what she was thinking, other than she had to help Bobby. The repercussions were the last thing on her mind.

Deakins sighed, his tirade over as he suddenly looked exhausted; exhausted and utterly disappointed. "IA will be here in an hour to look into this tip. I expect for you to get your story straight before they arrive. As of now, I'm putting you on a leave of absence, citing personal reasons."

"Captain, I don't-"

"It's either that or a suspension, a permeate black mark in your jacket, and maybe a hearing to see if you're still qualified to hold your rank, or to even wear the badge. Your call."

Alex swallowed the tight lump in her throat as she gave a nod in understanding. "I'll take the leave. For how long?"

Deakins shook his head as he said, "Until this all gets settled. I can't trust you on this case anymore. I can't trust you to not put Goren above your responsibilities as a police officer. Once you tell IA that you have no idea what the tip was about, I expect the paperwork for your leave on my desk before the end of the day." He reached behind him and opened the door.

Alex took in a deep breath as she fought tears back while leaving the office. She'd never felt so embarrassed, ashamed, and miserable in her life. Not since she disappointed her father by accidentally wrecking his car, after taking it without permission, when she was sixteen.

"Logan, Barek," Deakins said as he motioned for them to entire his office.

Alex watched as they walked toward the office, giving her looks of encouragement, Logan, and sympathy, Barek, as they went.

Looking down the hall, toward the interrogation room, she saw Carver talking to McCoy before opening the door to the room and going inside. The door shut, leaving McCoy steaming in the hallway.

"Detective Eames?"

Alex turned and saw a woman walking up to her. The woman didn't have to introduce herself, she already knew she was with IA. "Yes, that's me."

"Can we talk?"

At spotting an empty conference room, she lead the woman to it. The sooner she got this over with the better. She had no idea what she was going to do now, but one thing was for certain: she could now help Bobby without the limitations of her badge and her job.

TBC...


	14. State of Mind

A/N: Thanks for the reviews! And to the reviewer 'sell', the officers who took Bobby down did the right thing. Bobby stopped being a decorated Major Case detective the moment I had him flee from the transit officer, and when there was a warrant put out for his arrest. He was considered a fugitive, and therefore he had to be viewed as just another criminal. The warrant was for a felony offense, murder, and therefore it would have been assumed that Bobby could've been armed and dangerous. The officers responded to him with that in mind, and the fact that they did not know if he had a weapon on him or what his intentions were at 1PP. Their actions were based on standard police procedure.

Okay, and here's another chapter.

Enjoy!

* * *

_Major Case Squad_

The door to the room opened and he watched as a man entered. He wore a tailored Brooks Brothers suit, grey in color, white shirt and red tie, and eyeglasses. He assumed the man was a lawyer, but he didn't know if he was his, or for the State.

The man smiled at him as he approached the table, asking, "Do you know who I am?"

He shook his head as he looked the man over. "No, but if I were to guess, I'd say you're a lawyer. Mine?"

"That's right. I'm Ron Carver," Carver told him as he extended his hand.

Shaking it, he said, "I know I should know you...I don't, sorry."

Carver pulled out a chair next to him as he told him, "It's all right. I understand why, and that's why I'm here. To make sure the State also understands."

Leaning on the table, he stared over at Carver as he asked, "I want you to answer me honestly, Counselor. Am I guilty?"

Carver turned in his seat so he could face him. He gripped his shoulder a little as he told him, "I don't think so. And most importantly, I believe we can prove that. Don't worry, detective, there's plenty of evidence to exonerate you."

"Just not enough to keep this from going to the Grand Jury."

Carver smirked a little as he told him, "I remember a time when we had nothing on a suspect, but you made me indict him anyway based solely on speculation."

He blinked back at that as he asked, "Did he do it?"

"Yes, he did. And with your help, I proved he could've done it."

He looked down at the table as he thought about that. If Carver was explaining to him how good he was, it was working. Then, he realized exactly what the lawyer had said. "You aren't a Defense Attorney, are you."

Carver opened his briefcase as he said, "Prosecutor."

"Yet, you're defending me. Why?" he asked as he looked up so he could see into Carver's eyes.

"I want to," he explained as he turned to him again. Carver seemed to understand his need to make eye contact in order to gauge whether or not he was telling him the truth or not. "Throughout the years, we've had our disagreements, but I also thought highly of you, detective. You've always believed in the truth, but also in justice, even if that meant protecting the truth. I know the truth is you didn't commit neither one of these crimes, and I intend on making sure everyone else knows that as well."

There was no dishonesty he could see in the other man; and if he wasn't mistaken, he saw a hint of admiration shining through Carver's eyes before he returned his attention to his briefcase. He pulled out a notepad and pen and put then refastened the case before putting it on the floor.

"I don't know how good of a help I'm going to be. I don't remember anything."

"That's all you have to say," Carver said as he wrote something down on the pad. "Tell the truth, even if it's a constant repetition of 'I don't remember'. After you give the detectives your statement and they ask their questions. You'll be given a psych eval to document your amnesia. It'll be important to have for the Grand Jury."

"And when is that scheduled?"

"It's tentative. I'm still convinced that I can convince Jack McCoy to drop the indictment."

He looked over at him as he rubbed at his jaw. "Uh...the prosecutor?"

Carver looked over at him and gave a nod. "That's right. You don't remember who he is either."

"Him personally, no, I don't. But the name sounds familiar." As he thought about it, he reasoned it out to be something he heard in passing or read in one of the papers. "Maybe I read something about him in the paper."

"You could've; he's been in it a lot."

It wasn't long after that, a couple of minutes, before the door opened and in walked two police detectives. He recognized the man as the one who'd been with Alex at the park. The other was another woman; short, black hair, and Italian in her looks. While the man stood, she sat down across from him.

He looked back and forth between the two and then over at Carver who smiled at the two and then asked, "Will McCoy be joining you?"

"Not yet," the man said. "He'll be in here after we get done."

"Detective Goren," the woman said, causing him to break his eyes away from the male cop. "I'm Detective Barek, and you know the other detective."

Looking her in the eyes, he shook his head, saying, "I don't know the other detective." He looked up at the man and asked, "Who are you?"

"Detective Logan," he said as he shifted against the two-way mirror.

From the look in his eyes, he could tell that he wanted him to know who he was.

Giving a nod, he said, "You were with Detective Eames at the park...I saw you."

Logan seemed surprised by that. "You were actually there? We thought it was a ploy."

"It was, but I guess not in the way you thought."

"Why did you wait until now to turn yourself in," Barek asked.

Looking at her, he sighed as he answered, "I had...There were a lot of reasons. I didn't know anyone, or anything. I figured, since I knew nothing anyway, what was the point," he said with a shrug.

That caused Logan to smirk slightly as he shook his head.

"I didn't want to come in until I knew what was happening and why. I wanted to wait until I was also able to contact a lawyer. Not knowing who I could trust, and who was responsible for my condition...I was afraid."

"Is that why you also ran from the transit officer? You were afraid?" Barek asked.

Logan had yet to question him and he wondered it this was intentional or not. He didn't hesitate to answer honestly. "Yes."

"What were you so afraid of?"

He stared right at her as he said, "Of being guilty."

"Did you do it?" Logan finally asked.

Looking up at Logan, and then at Barek, he told them, "I don't know."

Barek had two files sitting in front of her on the desk. She opened the top one and pulled out a picture, putting it in front of him.

He looked down at the sight of a kid lying dead on a hospital bed, he pushed it away as he closed his eyes. That must have been the teenager he was suspected of killing.

"Do you know who that is?"

Shaking his head, he opened his eyes as he said, "No, I do not."

"You didn't do that to him?"

He glanced at the picture again, he couldn't help it. Taking in every bit of detail, he shook his head. "No."

Barek looked up at Logan who glanced at her. They both were thinking it, and so was he.

Before they could say it, he did. "I know what you're thinking. If I don't remember what happened, how can I be so sure I didn't...right?" When they both looked at him, he turned the picture around, facing Barek, as he leaned closer to her across the table. Pointing to the bruising and cuts all over the kid's face, he said, "I don't know much about myself, but I do know that I'm a lefty. These marks, here, here...and here," he said as he indicted to the angle of the impact. "If I had done it, the-the, uh, the downward angle would've been to the left, or more straight down. But, it's not. They're going to the right, and more sideways...A right-handed person did this. And not a very strong one. I weigh about what...240? I've got a strong upper body...If I had hit this kid once with an object, it would've penetrated the skull, broken through the skin easily. Instant death. This took a couple of...of, times before the skin was damaged. You're probably looking for a woman. One, full of rage."

"Why would you say that?" Barek asked.

"Because, this was done to him after he was already dead. There's no point in this other than to, to uh...let out that rage physically through an act of violence." Looking up at Barek, and then over at Logan, he said, "Don't you have experts working for you who can determine this stuff?"

Logan went to laugh but caught himself as he covered it up with a fake cough. Barek seemed less amused; she seemed utterly surprised.

"We sent the photos to an expert, Detective Goren. Their analysis proved exactly what you've just told us. That a right-handed, possibly a woman, had beaten this kid's face in with a hammer."

He glanced between the two of detectives and then looked over at Carver. "I'm no longer suspected in his death?"

"No," Logan said as he pulled out a chair and took a seat. "The DA had dropped the charge of murder for his death," he said as he took the photo away. "We just wanted to see how you would respond to it."

He thought about that as he gave a nod. "You wanted to see if I recognized him or not?"

"Exactly, and you didn't," Barek said as she took the photos from Logan.

He raised his eyes as that surprised him. He nodded to the other file as he asked, "Any other pictures you'd like to show me?"

"In a minute," Barek said, "but first, I want to know what you do remember."

"I don't remember anything," he told her again as he leaned on the table. "But I know you're going to ask me anyway, so go ahead."

"Sunday, February 20th, another murder was committed. At the scene, your suit jacket, cell phone, and wallet were discovered," Logan informed him as Barek opened the other file and showed him a photo of his belongings.

The building the items were found in had been burnt. There was debris everywhere, black and grey ash covering every inch of the place, including the items. He stared at the photo, taking in everything but the items found. "The person was burned?" he asked as he glanced up at the two of them. "Was that cause of death?"

"You tell us?" Barek said as she leaned on the table. "What'd you see?"

"I see a cover up. And, death by burning, isn't very common, unless the victim is already dead or incapacitated. And, if we're assuming the same person committed both murders...then I would think that the victim was dead before the fire was set. Your killer prefers to kill almost passive-aggressively. She, assuming it's a she, she, uh...she kills them using the least amount of physical violence...my guess would be poisoning. But then she does this..." he said as he turned the photo around to show them. "Sets the place on fire. Overkill. It suggests that it's either personal, or, she's trying to cover up the actual cause of death."

"No other reason for it besides those two?"

Shrugging, he said, "One other reason would be to tell a story. However, I don't see it. If there's another reason, a story being told..it's not complete."

"So, you're saying there will be more?" Logan asked in speculation, and confusion.

Nodding, he said, "If this is a story trying to be told...you can count on it." He saw the looks on all of their faces; they weren't expecting that. And the reason they weren't was because..."I'm being indicted for this murder, aren't I? You weren't expecting me to say that, because...if it's not me, if it's true that I didn't do this, than that means...I'm not trying to be set up, but, instead, I'm the one this killer is trying to tell the story to. Or, and here's what the prosecution is thinking...I am guilty and I'm letting you know that I'm not done yet. Well, believe me when I tell you that I have no intention of killing anyone. If someone else dies, I'm not going to be the one responsible for it."

No one said anything for a long minute, and it gave him the opportunity to take in the photo as his mind churned over what he'd just said, what he was thinking.

This was what happened on Sunday. This was what he had witnessed, and what he couldn't remember. It had to be. That meant he knew who did it, probably also the why.

It was a woman; that he knew. And now, he was thinking that it could've been this Nicole Wallace woman.

What had she told him? They were in the subway...waiting on the train...Competition.

Nicole had competition, someone had gotten in her way as she tried to help him learn the truth of who he was, and she'd taken care of the competition...of the interruption, as she put it.

Rubbing at his chin, he tried to put the pieces together. He knew he held them all; that they were all there, in the dark deep abyss where his memories laid buried.

"Who are they?" he asked as he looked to Barek, and then to Logan. When neither answered right away, he looked to Carver. "The victims, who...what were their relation to me?"

Carver looked to the detectives as he said, "If you don't tell him, I will. He has the right to know."

Logan looked to Barek as she went to speak; he stopped her with a hand on her shoulder, making her look at him. Whatever it was, it seemed that Logan wanted to be the one to tell him. He turned to him as he said, "The kid's a seventeen year old named Caleb Cunningham. He was a suspect in a previous case, and recently, in fact the night you disappeared, it was discovered that he was your half-brother."

He covered his mouth as he closed his eyes. That knowledge slammed into him hard. Taking a breath, he opened his eyes and peered at the table, fighting back an array of emotions that made no sense to him. It didn't sadden him, but angered him. "Okay," he said as his voice slightly shook. Clearing his throat, he leaned on the table and gave a nod. "Yeah, okay. And the other victim?"

Logan nodded to Barek who pulled out a picture and showed it to him. He took in and saw the face of a young woman. She had brunette hair and brown eyes, light colored skin and full lips. In the picture, which appeared to be a work ID, she wore a white lab coat. "She a doctor?"

"An M.E.'s assistant. That's Brenda Hanson." When he only looked at Logan with a blank stare, he continued, "She worked on Staten Island, along with you."

"Were we friends?" he asked as he looked back at the picture with a slight feel of sympathy and sorrow.

"Not exactly. She could've been, that was until she tried to kill you."

He jerked his head up from the picture to stare at Logan. Knitting his head in confusion, he tried to remember that. He didn't. "Sh-she, uh...how?"

Barek pulled out another photo and placed it in front of him. He looked at it and immediately dropped the picture of the woman as he stared at the photo of himself lying in a hospital bed with a gunshot wound.

He stood, backing the chair he'd been sitting in against the wall. The others in the room were startled by his sudden movement but the only one who seemed momentarily afraid was Barek.

He didn't think about it as he pulled up his shirt, exposing his bare stomach, and looked at the scar running along his left side, above his waist. Running his fingers over it, he looked from it, to the picture, and back. "She shot me."

Logan met his eyes as he told him, "She wasn't the one who pulled the trigger, but she was involved."

He looked back at the picture of himself and then at the woman. Sitting back down, he shook his head as he couldn't remember. Pushing them back to Barek, he said, "I don't remember any of it."

He felt the anger rushing through him at not being able to remember. He wanted to hit something, anything, the table as he clenched his hand and closed his eyes. The last thing he wanted to do was losing it in front of the detectives and his lawyer.

"Why are you upset if you can't remember?" Barek asked him as she stuffed the photos back into the file.

"I'm angry, detective, because I can't remember. This...it's so fucking...frustrating to not know your own life. I know that I have the answers, they're there, but I...I just can't, access them. It...I feel so...impotent."

He lowered his head as he felt the pounding start in his head. Sighing, he rubbed at it as he lost himself in thought. He heard them talking around him, but not to him, as he closed his eyes and rubbed at the pain throbbing in his temples. It was starting to become unbearable.

"Was she the one in the motel room?" The voices quieted as he opened his eyes to look around at them. Staring right at Logan, he saw he look. "She was...wasn't she?"

"Yeah, it was her," Logan said as he suddenly looked...remorseful.

He continued to stare at Logan until he looked away. turning his attention to Barek, he asked, "You know what happened to me in that room." When she didn't speak fast enough, he finally lost it. Smacking the table, he caused everyone to jump, even Logan and Carver. "Well?" he asked sternly. "I have the right to know."

Barek nodded in agreement as she told him, "She was with you in the room. There's evidence of intercourse."

He blinked back as he thought about that. He should have felt something, disgust or anger or hatred...something other than nothing. Maybe he just wasn't told the right thing. He cleared his throat as he asked, "Consensual or...was it rape?"

"We don't know," Logan told him. "The only evidence we have was on the sheets from the bed which indicates that there was sex, but...no evidence of it being focused, other than the marks on your wrists from being restrained."

"Any good prosecutor could argue that you agreed to the restraints," Carver told him as he spoke up for the first time since the interview started. "And for all we know, that is what happened."

"Hospital reports that there was no evidence of sexual intercourse found during your examination," Barek further explained. "Which means-"

"Which means that either nothing actually happened to me, or a condom was used and I was cleaned up afterwards," he finished for her. "But, even if something didn't happen to me, something happened to her. She had sex."

"Again, it's all circumstantial," Carver said as he wrote something down on his notepad.

He realized that Carver had been doing that the whole time.

"And," Carver said once he stopped writing and looked up. "If that's it, you two can leave and have McCoy come in."

Both Logan and Barek got up from the table and headed to the door. Barek left but Logan hung back; turning to him, he told him, "Hang in there, Goren. This will all be over soon. Trust in us, and Mr. Carver, and you'll be okay."

He gave a nod as Logan smiled, turned, and left. Rubbing at his head, he heard the door open again and looked up to see an older man, wearing nearly the exact same outfit as Carver, enter and sit at the table.

"Hello, detective. I'm DA Jack McCoy," he introduced himself as he shook his hand.

Carver leaned back in the chair as he crossed his arms over his chest, waiting.

He couldn't wait. he wanted to know what the DA thought, whether or not this would be taken to the Grand Jury, now. "I know why you couldn't believe me, Mr. McCoy."

"Oh yeah, and why's that?"

"You had to see me in person," he told him. "You had to hear what I had to say, see my reactions, for yourself. You couldn't just take somebody's word for it. You needed living proof...And I can't hate you for that." He looked the man over as he gave a nod in understanding. "If you're still convinced it was me, then I can't stop you from going through with the indictment. However, to prove that I committed murder, in the first degree, of this woman, then you have to prove my knowledge of her, prove my intent, how I was capable of doing it, and opportunity. As of now, you have none of that. All you can prove was that I was in the hotel room with her, and you can't even prove the how or why. All we have, both the defense and prosecution, is circumstance, and a lot of what if. I would hate for you to look like a first year law student up there, trying to indict a man that can't even remember his own name. Even so, do you think that-that I would just let you railroad me, let you destroy everything I am or was, simply for the fact that I can't remember if I did it or not? Mr. Carver here is the least of your worries if you take this to the Grand Jury, because I have no intention of letting myself become a patsy. I'll plead innocence by reason of mental disease before I let that happen, and given the circumstances, and my amnesia, I just might win that argument...there's a lot of mitigating circumstances that could bring my, uh...my state of mind into question. Don't you think?"

McCoy was quiet for a long moment as they stared at one another. He wasn't sure what McCoy was looking for, or if he was even giving him what he wanted, but he had the urge to not let himself be intimidated by the DA.

Then, with a small smile on his face, he said, "I do believe I owe you an apology."

He owed him an apology...? "For what?" he asked in confusion as he tilted his head slightly, trying to read the man. McCoy was a smug bastard, but he seemed honest in his smugness. He had the audacity to wear it on his sleeve.

"For calling you a liar," he told him before addressing Carver. "As of now, I'm holding off on the indictment, but that doesn't mean it's over completely. Unless new evidence is discovered or You recover your memories and realize that you actually did it, there's not enough to go to the Grand Jury. Plus, I'm sure that you would knock me out of the park with all this circumstantial business." He shook his hand then Carver's as he stood, saying, "I can't wait to get you back on the right side of the bench, Ron."

"Oh, I'll be back, as long as Goren is cleared of all charges," Carver said as they dropped hands.

McCoy gave a nod as he said, "As of now, he is. Have a good day."

He watched as the DA left the room before turning to Carver. "Thank you."

Carver smiled and shook his head, saying, "I didn't do anything. It was you."

"You stood by me, that's something," he told him as he stood and shook his hand.

Carver shook his hand as he gave him a pat on the shoulder. Picking up his briefcase, he headed to the door and pulled it open. "I told you once that you would make an excellent defense attorney. Even with no memory, you're still as sharp as ever. You could represent yourself."

"I'd rather leave it to the professionals, unless it's obvious that they don't know what they're doing."

Out in the hallway, he was greeted by other man and a woman. Carver left him in their company as he headed down the hall.

"Bobby, I'm Captain Deakins of Major Case, this is Dr. Olivet," he introduced them before telling him, "She wants to evaluate you and get this amnesia on paper."

He gave a nod as he looked around, asking, "Do you want to do it in the interrogation room or an office somewhere?"

"I'd rather do it now, the interrogation room is fine. It won't take long, you already proved to me during the interview that you don't remember anything."

He lead her into the room and she shut the door behind her and then got started.

* * *

Logan had tried to find Eames after he left the interrogation room, but she was no where in the building. He'd seen her speaking with a woman from IA before going in to talk to Goren, but now she was gone. Deakins had told him that she was taking leave, and that he was to be partnered with Barek, so he figured she headed home.

That worried him. He thought that she would at least stick around to hear what McCoy would decided, whether or not to proceed with the indictment or not. It didn't surprise him that after that interview, that Goren was a free man once again. The charges were being dropped unless more evidence was discovered that could prove his guilt. Which he knew wouldn't happen.

What troubled him the most about what Goren had said was that this wasn't over. If it was Nicole Wallace, a she was trying to tell a story, then more bodies were going to show up. And if Logan was a betting man, which he was, he would bet that it would be another person associated with Goren, either a friend or an enemy.

He pulled out his phone as he walked back into the squad room and dialed a number. After several rings it went to voicemail. "Hey, Eames, just letting you know that McCoy is calling the indictment off. Goren's free." He hesitated in what else to say, if anything, before hanging up.

He saw Dr. Olivet leave the interrogation room with Bobby behind her. They shook hands before she left him to go into the Captain's office.

Bobby looked around, looking lost, confused, and fascinated all at the same time as he rubbed at his neck and headed for the exit.

Logan had no idea what Bobby was going through, or thinking as he headed out of the squad room, but he felt for the guy. Turning to follow him out, he caught up with him at the elevators. "Hey, Goren."

Bobby looked over at him as he hit the button and waited for the elevator. "Detective Logan."

Logan wasn't used to hearing that coming out of Bobby's mouth, and he hoped one day he'd hear him call him 'Mike' again. He stepped up to him as he thought about why he had followed Bobby. He looked at the floor number and saw it coming up from the fifth floor; he had time, but not much. "Look, I know you don't remember me, but we were once partners on Staten Island...I saved you life when you were shot."

Bobby turned to him then as he looked him over, and then waited for him to continue.

"Anyway, I was just wanting to tell you that if you have any questions or want to talk or if you just wanted a drinking buddy," Logan said as he pulled out one of his cards and handed it to him. "Give me a call."

Bobby took the card and turned it over in his hand before pocketing it. "Yeah, sure, thanks."

"Don't mention it. I'll see you around, all right. And, hey, we'll find the person who did this. I promise," he told him as the elevator dinged as the doors slid open.

Bobby gave him a smile and then got on the elevator and pressed a button. As the doors started to close, he suddenly reached out and stopped them from closing. Looking up at him, he said, "When you see Eames, tell her that...that I'm sorry."

Logan didn't know what that was all about, but he nodded as he gave his promise. As the elevator started to descend the floor, he turned and started for Deakins office.

He met Olivet and Barek inside as he shut the door.

"So, what's the verdict, Doc?" Deakins asked as he leaned on his desk.

Olivet sighed as she leaned back in the chair she had been sitting in and crossed her legs. "I don't believe Goren's amnesia was caused by anything chemical. That was purely incidental."

"What're you saying?" Logan asked as he crossed the room and leaned against the file cabinet. "You think he did this to himself?"

"Yes, Logan, that's what I'm saying. I wasn't sure at first, but now after I saw his reactions, especially to the fact that he could've been sexually violated, and his absolute apathy toward that fact, proves it. Even with amnesia, he should be upset, but he's not. It's like he turned a part of himself off. I mean, just think about it. Think about how, at the moment in his life when he discovered that everything he thought he knew about himself and his family wasn't true, how that must have felt. His whole life had been uprooted and flipped upside down. He was mentally exhausted and more acceptable to the effects of the drug. And it was like his brain was given a choice."

"I get what you're saying," Barek spoke up from the chair she'd been sitting in. "It was his mind's way of protecting itself, of basically preserving it and Goren, by wiping the slate clean. He'd been suffering for so long, and when given the opportunity to forget everything, his mind took it, like an offering. It was an extreme form of a defense mechanism. Repression but in the greatest extreme, resulting in amnesia."

"Right," Olivet agreed. "His mind needed the time to come to terms with everything, and since it's been conditioned to repress painful memories before, it went into overdrive when Goren was given the drug to forget what happened in that motel room."

"But why did Nicole want him to forget everything anyway if she wanted him to suffer through that?" Barek asked.

"Because she didn't," Logan said as he thought about everything. "The whole purpose was to put him in the exact position he was in until now, having to defend himself when he couldn't. Wallace didn't want Goren to forget his whole life, she only wanted him to forget what happened during the time she had him. And all this stuff about there being sex, which can't be proven whether it was consensual or rape; it's just another form of torture. He wouldn't have known if he cheated on Eames or not, and given the plant of condoms in his wallet, his things being found at the warehouse fire, Nicole had him. She didn't expect this amnesia, but she knows. And she's going to use it to her own advantage."

Barek nodded in agreement before saying, "And if it is Nicole, she's not done yet."

Logan smirked as he said, "My thoughts exactly. She's going to go after him, and everyone he knows, friends and enemies. If she is trying to tell a story, like Goren said, it isn't complete."

Deakins agreed as he said, "I want a detail put on Goren and Eames. And for you two to start going over everything now with that in mind. Look at Bobby's history with Nicole, Brenda, look into Caleb's background, and these murders and try to figure out what she's trying to say. Hopefully we can figure out who's next on her list."

As Logan left the office, he felt his cell vibrate. Taking it out, he saw a text from Eames. All it said was 'Thanks'.

He texted her back with what Bobby had told him, that he was sorry, before following Barek over to her desk. He helped her to gather up case files before taking them in an empty conference room to work.

TBC...


	15. One day at a time

A/N: I apologize for the delay in updating. I'm trying to fit my writing in somewhere between work and having a life, and right now it's been virtually impossible. My updates are going to be slow in coming, but just know that I haven't forgotten about any of my stories and I'm trying to do the best I can. Thank you all for the reviews and the support!

Also, I don't mean to depress anyone, but this chapter isn't the happiest. Life happens to the best of us, and I refuse to not write about the unexpected circumstances in these detectives lives. However, do know that things may look bleak now, but they will get better. How this will all end hasn't been determined yet, I'm working on it because I can go either way and I'm having a serious fight within myself over what I want to happen.

Okay, enough of my rambling, and enjoy.

* * *

_Bobby's Apartment_

He used his key to enter through the front door; as soon as he stepped in he felt the heat and heard the chirping of the bird from the living room. Dropping the backpack on the couch, he removed his coat and draped it over the back of it as he walked through the rooms. Since he was now free, he had no reason to stay away from his own home.

Yet, as he looked around, it didn't feel like his home. It all felt disconnected: his body and mind from his life. They were all there but held no connection. There was nothing that told him how he should act, what to do, or where to go or when. Did he have bills to pay, people to call or his mother to visit? A doctor he had to keep in touch with?

Going into the kitchen, he opened the refrigerator and spotted several take-out boxes, plastic containers, bottle of water and beer, milk juice, and a bunch of condiments. He grabbed one of the imported German beer bottles and twisted the cap off as he shut the door with his foot. Taking small sips off the bottle, he ventured around the kitchen as he inspected the cabinets and items scattered over the counters. Nothing had changed much since he'd last been there; on a bulletin board hanging on the wall by the cabinets he spotted his bills. He studied them for a moment, realizing that they were all paid, before walking away.

The flashing light from the message machine caught his attention as he passed. Reaching over, he hit the 'play' button as he saw he had ten messages. The first two were from a reporter who wanted a comment for the _New York Ledger_, the third was from his mother—she sounded agitated yet worried-, the fourth was from his mother's doctor—his mother had become greatly distressed and needed to be sedated-, he was to call back. The rest were all reporters wanting a comment.

He erased all the messages except the one from the doctor before stepping into the living room.

Sometime later, while he was skimming DVD titles, there was a knock at the front door. Getting up off the floor, he went to answer it. Peering through the blinds over the window he spotted Detective Logan standing on the stoop. Out on the street there was a tow truck with a very nice looking classic Ford Mustang.

Logan greeted him as he opened the door, saying, "I was hoping you'd be home."

"Detective," he said as he pushed open the glass door. He spotted a thick envelope in Logan's hands and wondered if that was the items that belonged to him. Instead of asking about it, he gestured to the car and asked, "Is that my car?"

"Yep, and I made sure it was put back together properly, but, they did have to take samples from it. There was a small portion of blood on the passenger seat. They had to cut out a small piece of the leather."

Looking toward the car, he gave a nod as he understood. "There's no spot out front for it…I noticed, uh, in the back, there's a place to park it."

"I'll tell the driver," Logan told him as he handed him a set of keys.

He took the keys and then shut the door before heading around to the back. He watched as the car was lowered from the tow truck and placed in an empty spot. Detective Logan thanked the driver and paid before he could object.

"Don't worry about it. The department's flipping the bill," Logan said as the truck drove away. Holding up the envelope, he asked, "Mind if I come in?"

"Yeah, sure," he told him as he lead the way inside. He tossed the keys on the table as he passed it while Logan shut the door. "Want a drink?" he asked as he opened the refrigerator and took out a new bottle. The one he had before was sitting empty on the coffee table.

"I normally would but I'm on duty."

He pulled out a bottle of water and offered it to him instead. Logan took it with a grateful smile as he said, "I can only imagine how hard this is for you."

"Well, you can imagine all you want but until you actually experience it, you have no idea," he told him as he moved around the kitchen and settled for leaning back against the counter.

Logan seemed to get that as he didn't say anything else about it. "I've got your wallet and cell phone. They're no longer needed as evidence. The suit jacket is at the cleaners," he told him as he pulled out a dry cleaning receipt and put it on the table along with the envelope. He reached in his inside jacket pocket and pulled out a sheet of paper. "You need to sign for them."

He took the offered form and pen from Logan and filled out the necessary information before handing it back to the detective.

As Logan took it from him, he said, "Hey, look Bobby-"

"Don't call me that, all right," he said suddenly, cutting Logan off as he stared over at him. "I don't know you, and for all you know, you don't know me. From what you told me, we were partners, and maybe even friends, but right now I'm not any of those things. I appreciate you bringing this stuff to me, but if you came here to tell me once again how you've got my back and how everything will be okay, you can save it, all right. If you can't give me answers, if you can't help me by telling me what in the hell I'm supposed to do now, then there's the door."

Logan stood staring right back at him, looking more than a little put off, as he asked, "What'd you think you need to be doing?"

He gave a shrug because he didn't really know.

"Look, I know you're confused and have a lot of questions, my advice to you would be to call Eames and to take this one day at a time."

"One day…at a time," he slowly said as he stared over at the cop standing in his kitchen; he no longer felt the need for the cop to be there. "You can leave now, detective."

Logan looked slightly disappointed, but he nodded as he said, "Yeah, okay. And it's Mike."

He stared at him, waiting for him to either continue or to leave.

"You can call me Mike," Logan clarified as he slowly stepped toward the door.

"Would that make you feel better?" he asked, almost sounding condescending, as he started to walk over to the cop.

Logan turned toward him, tensing slightly as he saw him approach. With a hard look on his face, told him, "I'm only trying to be a friend, Bobby."

"And you can call me Robert," he told Logan as he reached around him to open the door for him. "That would make _me_ feel better. Watch your step, there's ice."

"Yeah, thanks," Logan said without a hint of gratitude in his voice. He gave him one last look, eyeing him like a suspect, before leaving.

He watched as Logan walked down the steps, through the sludge of wet snow, until he disappeared around the building. Shutting the door, he locked it and returned to the living room where he grabbed the backpack off the couch and headed to the study. He shut that door and tossed the bag on the floor.

Looking around, he went over to the closest, the only place in that room he hadn't looked in before, and opened the door. There was nothing hanging on the long rod; instead, there were boxes stacked from the floor up to the rod, and then some more boxes lining the top shelf. Most were regular packing boxes, some were for filing. Two file boxes were on top, so he took those down.

Sitting on the floor, he opened one and saw a case file stacked into it. Taking it out, he caught the name on the tab along with the case number. He had to do a double take because the name startled him; it was his own. He flipped the file open and immediately saw a stack of photos that had been haphazardly thrown back into it. Picking those up, he started shifting through them and what he saw should have upset him, angered him, or make him sick…but, they didn't.

As he thumbed through the photos, and then the entire case file of the crime that had been committed against him two years ago, he did it numbly, like a stoic. All he felt toward what he saw, what he'd been through, was apathy.

After a while of sitting on the floor, and hurting his back, he threw the case file into the box and put it back into the closest. He grabbed the second box off the floor and carried it into the living room with him. That box also had a case file in it, which also had his name on the tab.

Dropping the box on the coffee table, he went to the kitchen, made himself a sandwich and grabbed another bottle. He sat on the couch and flipped open the box as he took a bite. This file wasn't nearly as thick as the other, but it still held a lot. He had to put his sandwich down in order to lift the file out with two hands. Taking a glance at the clock, he saw it was almost five. Picking up the remotes, there were three, and quickly figured out which one went to the TV, to the cable box, and to the DVD player.

He found the local news channel and leaned back on the couch, bringing the file with him and setting it on his lap. As he flipped through the file, and looked at the crime scene photos, including the same picture he saw earlier that day in the interrogation room, he listened faintly to the opening news reports. It was the third story of the evening, and he sat the file down and grabbed the remote to increase the volume.

A male news reporter was standing outside of One Police Plaza as he informed the viewers, "…this afternoon, Detective Robert Goren turned himself in to the police here at One Police Plaza. Shortly thereafter, Police Chief Yarrow, along with DA Jack McCoy, gave this following press conference."

The live report was cut in by a pre-recorded video of the press conference where the Chief and the DA announced his immediate release as a suspect and person of interest. Jack McCoy even gave a formal apology, but he knew it was all for show. If there was anything that came up to put him back under the microscope of suspicion, McCoy wouldn't hesitate to try and prosecute him again. He picked up the beer bottle and took a sip as the video clip ended and the reporter came back on the screen.

"That's all we know as of now. Detective Goren has yet to comment on these events-"

He turned the television off as he sat back and rubbed at his eyes, his head. As long as it was made public that he was cleared, that was all that mattered to him; all he wanted to see. The phone in the kitchen shrilled the moment the news report was over; he stayed on the couch and listened to the four rings before his voice cut off the ringing, informing the caller to leave a message.

It was another reporter, this time with a FOX news channel. They wanted his statement, like all the others. Letting out a deep breath, he got up off the couch, went into the kitchen, and yanked the phone cord out of the jack in the wall.

* * *

_Home of John and Emily Eames_

_Forest Hills, Queens_

Alex stared at her father as she tried to process what the man had just told her. After she left One Police Plaza after speaking with IA, she decided to visit her parents. Her mother had a doctors' appointment the other day and she wanted to check in on her. Her mom was now "resting", and her dad was preparing them both a grilled ham and cheese sandwich with soup when he told her what the doctor had said.

Her mom was having complications that included not only high blood pressure but her heart. The complications weren't cause for concern yet, but could be if the prescribed medication failed to work. With her mother's medical history the doctors were extremely worried that these issues could result in another stroke. Given her mom's age, another stroke could be fatal.

Her dad placed a plate in front of her along with a bowl as he sat across from her. She watched as his hands shook as he raised the spoon to his lips as he begun to eat. Looking down at her food, she was no longer hungry. Rubbing at her forehead, trying to ease the sudden pounding, she shook her head as she pushed the plate away.

"Alex?"

"Dad, you just told me that my mother was having serious medical complications that could end her life…and you expect me to eat right now?"

Her dad stared over at her with a grim look and frown as he nodded in understanding. "I've barely eaten myself since hearing the news, your mother's been…" he trailed off as he looked down at his own food. "She's been "resting" a lot, and sustaining off of toast and coffee."

"The caffeine's not helping with the blood pressure."

"You don't think I know that," he snapped before he could catch himself. "Sorry." He pushed his own plate away and Alex reached over and pushed it back.

She realized that in order for him to eat his food, she had to eat hers. "I'll eat mine if you eat yours," she told him.

He stared over at her as he let out a sigh. Giving a nod, he pulled his plate back as she reached for hers. She picked up half her sandwich and took a small bite as he did the same. It didn't take long for the desire to eat overwhelmed the both of them and they had cleared their plates and emptied their bowls in a matter of minutes.

As they stood and the sink together, cleaning the dishes, Alex looked over at her dad as she asked, "Have you told anyone else?"

He shook his head as he took the soapy bowl from her and rinsed it under the water. "I've been trying to figure out how to do it."

"We can invite everyone over for dinner, telling them all at once."

Her dad looked over at her and said sternly, "For God's sake, you're making it sound like we're telling them that she's going to die. It's just complications. She's on medication."

Alex heard the desperate tone in her father's voice right before he turned and walked away, leaving her alone in the kitchen to finish the dishes on her own. She understood his anger because it was exactly what she felt. She was angry, hurt, and it felt like her heart was being ripped out of her chest. However, she wasn't trying to live in denial. She was trying to accept this for what it was and keep a level head about it all. With being a cop, she was trained to not give into fear, to look at the facts and make clear headed decisions.

From what her father had told her, she knew that they had to prepare for the worse. Her mom was old, she had suffered a stroke before, her heart was weakening with every passing day, and pretty soon she knew that they all had to face the facts. The facts were that her mom could suffer another stroke any day now. Whether it was in her heart or in her brain didn't matter, because they would both be bad. Either one could end her mother's life. Facing that fact now would hopefully make things easier. They could all prepare themselves in the hopes of making it easier.

She sighed as she closed her eyes and felt the tears start to fall. There would be nothing easy about this. That was just a fool's hope. Nothing could have prepared her for her father's words, and nothing would ever prepare her for the day she would lose her parents. Even if they knew, even if they had months or years to prepare and come to terms with it, it still wouldn't ease the pain she felt in her heart.

However, she did believe it would be better than it being unexpected, something sudden with no warning at all. She'd been through that with Joe. One day he was there, they were happy and had no worries in the world, and then the next he was gone. Yes, he had slipped into a coma, but there was still hope all the way up until he took his final breath. She refused to be blindsided like that again. It would be hard and painful, but she would make sure her mother just knew how much she loved her, get all the hugs and kisses she possible could, and do all she could to support her father.

This was going to destroy her father. She silently made a promise to herself to take good care of him; he was going to need it.

Once she was able to get a hold of herself, she finished the dishes and picked up her cell phone. She called every member of her family, both her brothers and sisters, and told them that they were having a family dinner tonight. Her brother John Jr. was thankfully off work tonight so he would be able to make it, the only one of them that wouldn't be able to make it was Liz. She urged her sister to call in and get someone to cover for her, that it was a family emergency. That put her sister on high alert but she promised to do her best to take the night off. With the unexpected family dilemma that she and her husband Terry were going though, Liz had already taken a night off last night.

The last person she wanted to see that night was Terry, but she accepted the fact that Terry would come over, bringing Nathan with him.

After all the notifications were made, she realized even though she had invited them all to dinner that the last thing anyone of them would want to do after receiving the news was to have a family feast.

She briefly thought of calling Bobby but decided against it. He had no memory of her family and she wasn't sure if he would come over or not. Alex also found herself not wanting him there anyway. Since last night, she felt a shift within her in regards to Bobby. She wasn't quite sure what it was, but something was missing.

Mike had texted her earlier, telling her that Bobby was cleared of the charges against him, and she was thankful. She was still determined to help him in any way possible to take down the person responsible because still valued him enough as a friend. However, that was just it. She was trying to sort out her emotions, and how she felt about him, and she was coming up short on her own feelings toward him.

She wasn't sure if it was because of what happened last night, or if this was something that had been building for a while. A month ago her feelings for Bobby were slipping. She wasn't sure if she could be with him anymore and she had found herself even ready to break it off with him. Then the ADA's murder had happened, and the Caleb Cunningham case. They had started working on their failing relationship, but it hadn't been completely resolved. It was still damaged and she was wondering now if that damage was complete.

She wondered now if she could continue on with her relationship with Bobby. She started to have a sinking feeling that she could no longer love him the same way as before. That her love for him had changed, and that was why she didn't feel the need to call him or to have him there.

He wouldn't come anyway, she told herself. He had no responsibilities there; not to her or to her family. Leaving the kitchen, she told her dad that he had called everyone before going up the steps to her parent's bedroom.

She wanted to spend as much time as she could with her mom.

TBC…


	16. Rediscovering the Truth

A/N: Thank you all for the reviews! I'm sorry for the extreme delay in updating. Believe me I'm trying to fit in the time to write between everything else.

Enjoy!

* * *

_Bobby's Apartment_

Alex unlocked the backdoor and pushed it open, walking immediately into the kitchen and spotting Robert standing at the stove cooking. She had made it a priority to remember to refer to him now as Robert until he grew more comfortable around her. It took some doing, but after last night it was easier to remind herself that as of right now, he wasn't the man she had fallen in love with. He was a stranger to her, to himself, and to his entire life.

She had no idea how or if they could get beyond this, but even though last night had ended badly in a way, there were good moments. There had been hope in his eyes in regaining his life back, and maybe the love they had for each other. Standing there now, in the kitchen, and watching him mindlessly prepare dinner she wasn't sure what she felt. It was so hard to not be overwhelmed still with the array of emotions from earlier that night. Her family now knew what was going on with their mom. They all felt the same way; they were all preparing for the worse, yet hoping for the best.

If Robert had noticed her there, he made no indication. She wouldn't be surprised to learn that he was so engrossed in what he was doing, and in his head, to notice. Alex slid off her coat and draped it over the back of the car and tossed her purse on the table.

The noise brought his head up and when their eyes met, she saw a slight smile before he was back to focusing on the food he was cooking. From the smell and sizzling, she knew it was steak.

"Need any help?" she asked as she walked over to the counter. She saw the wine she'd bought open on the counter along with a glass half full sitting next to it.

"It's almost done, but thanks anyway. Uh…" he gestured to the bottle and asked, "want a glass?"

"I think I need something stronger after the day I had, but sure, why not."

Robert gave her a concerned look, but he didn't ask. Bobby would've asked, and she felt the pang of hurt as she pulled down a wineglass and filled it. "Want me to top yours off?"

"Thanks," he softly said.

Alex topped his glass off before going over to the table to sit down. She felt out of place suddenly; thinking once again that maybe he wouldn't want her there. However, as it were, she had no place else to go. This was her home too. Sure, she was in the process of moving out, but so far all she had at her new apartment was a mattress on the floor and a box of dishes and appliances.

Robert made two plates and handed one to her before grabbing his glass and starting for the living room. She picked up her plate and glass to follow. As she entered the living room, she was surprised to see him keep walking toward the hallway.

Letting out a breath of air, she headed back into the kitchen. She didn't have much of an appetite but since he cooked, and remembered to cook for her as well, she ate most of the meal before finally giving up and tossing the rest. In the living room, she sat down on the couch with a cup of tea and decided to relax as she would like any other night. After staring mindlessly at a news program for half an hour, she realized she was having trouble dropping her guard. Her mind kept going back to last night, to everything that had happened in the past week, the past few months, as she tried to make sense of it all.

The door opened down the hall and she turned her head as Robert came back into the living room carrying his empty plate a glass. His focus was on the floor as he was lost in thought. Having enough of this no talking, Alex gathered her strength and courage as she got up and followed him into the kitchen.

Before she could say anything, he talked first.

"Did, uh…Detective Logan tell you that I was sorry?"

"Yeah, I got the message," she told him as she went over to the table.

He gave a nod as he sat his dishes in the sink. Then, turning to face her, he leaned against the counter as he told her, "I wanted to tell you myself but you weren't around after the interviews were over, and I didn't know how you would, uh, accept it…coming from me."

"Robert," she said as she sat down at the table, "I would rather accept it coming from you than someone else. But there's nothing for you to be sorry about. We were both at fault for what happened last night. And if anyone should be sorry, it should be me."

He gave her a confused look before asking, "Why would it be your fault?"

"Because you were right. You warned me that you were different, that you weren't the man I loved, and I wouldn't listen. I thought I understood, but I guess I was in denial about some things. I wanted you so much; at least I wanted the man that I know you once were…I lost my reasoning."

They were both quiet for a long moment. Robert was looking to the floor, thinking about it all before saying, "I guess love and desperation does that." He looked up at her and she saw the pain in his eyes. "I took advantage."

"No, you didn't."

"It felt like I did. I don't even know what happened. I had no control over myself."

Alex sucked in a deep breath as thoughts of last night filled her head. The way he got angry with her right before trying to leave. How she stopped him, kissed him, and then him going to leave again but then something happened. She saw a look cross his face, one she couldn't place and that slightly terrified her before he stepped into her and kissed her back.

"Do you regret it?"

She shook her head. "Do you? You left awfully fast."

A look of pain hit his face as he flinched. Shaking his head, he told her, "I only regret how I made you feel, and for leaving."

"How do you think you made me feel?" she asked; genuinely curious and confused.

He wouldn't look at her as he rubbed over his eyes and head. "Like….like you were being used."

She stared at him for a long moment before saying, "Well, it wouldn't have been the first time if I had been."

At that, his head snapped up as he stared over at her. The look in his eyes nearly did her in. He looked absolutely stunned and guilty at the same time. "What'd you mean?"

"I mean that I know how people just need somebody for sex, and it wouldn't be the first time that has happened between us. But, you're right, last night was different because for the first time I knew that there was no love involved."

His face dropped and so did his eyes; they were back on the floor and away from her as he softly told her, "I couldn't. I was afraid if…that if I had let myself feel anything, or if I had let you think that I was…I guess, making love to you, then you would think that I was uh, who I was before. I thought I was doing the right thing at the time…But, none of what happened was the right thing. I should have just left."

"Maybe so, but what happened, happened. Neither one of us can change that. And, despite what either one of us felt during or after, I think it was a good thing." He peered over at her and she saw the disbelief in his eyes before she continued, "It forced me to realize that I was in denial. It forced me to face the reality of this situation. You have no memory of us. You have no memory of your life. Therefore, you don't have none of your virtues, and none of your vices."

He gave a nod to that as he told her, "You finally realized that, huh?" The way he said that, and the slight smirk she saw, told her he was teasing her despite the fact that the humor never reached his eyes.

"Call me what you want, but I still had hope for us."

"Had?" he said as disappointment clouded his voice, "You don't think-"

"I don't know what to think anymore, Robert. The fact that I have to call you that instead of Bobby isn't giving me much to hope for."

"I'm more comfortable—"

"I know," she said, cutting him off again. "That's the point. You're more comfortable right now at keeping people who're your friends at a distance than you are at letting us in. You should want our help, but instead, you're pushing us away."

He sighed loudly as he shook his head a little at hearing that. The way his face twisted slightly, and his jaw twitched, she knew he was getting angry at that accusation. "It's hard."

"Don't you want to know?"

"I do know. At least I know part of it," he told her as he gestured toward the living room, waving his hand dismissively. "I found the case files that were in the closet."

Alex wondered when that would happen. Bobby had brought those files home and had been obsessively going over them because he had trouble remembering everything that had happened to him during his abduction. He had been in denial himself, and had repressed some of the most terrible things he'd been through in order to get over and past it all.

Knowing that she was going to sound like a shrink or something, she had to ask him anyway, "Are you okay? That stuff's not easy to look at, or to remember."

Shaking his head, he told her, "I'm fine. And uh, that's the thing. I am fine. Going through the files, I thought they would make me remember or at least make me feel…_something_. I didn't."

Wrinkling her head in confusion, she asked, "You didn't remember anything?"

"That, and…I didn't feel anything." He looked up at her and she was the worry in his eyes at that declaration. "I felt nothing. No pain, no anger…not even relief. It was like, I don't know…like I turned everything inside of me off when I looked at the pictures. I don't know what to think, Alex. I don't know if…if it's my minds way of telling me that I'm over it. Or, if it means that I'm never to regain my memories back…"

"Hey," she said as she got up and walked over to him. While he was talking, he started to shake a little and the anger was getting worse. "You will remember."

"What makes you so sure?" he asked as tensed slightly as she got closer to him. With a pain in his eyes that she'd barely seen in him before, he said, "I'm so scared that I'll never…" he trailed off as he closed his eyes to rub at the tears she'd seen well before he caught them.

Reaching out, Alex placed her hand on his chest, feeling the pounding of his heart and the trembling in his body. "You need to calm down."

"The more time that passes, and the less I remember, the angrier I feel. The more…_apathetic_ I'm becoming. I just…I feel like giving up sometimes or that maybe it'll be easier if I just left."

Alex felt the sudden panic in her chest as he said that. The last thing she wanted was for him to suddenly leave, to disappear like he suggested. She couldn't even force out a protest as he suddenly reached out and grabbed her hand that was still resting on his chest. He looked at her hand and then into her eyes as he eased her hand off him.

"Being here," he softly told her, "Seeing everything that I have, everybody that I used to know, and not knowing them…not knowing what to do or when to do it…that's the most frustrating. Logan was here earlier, to drop off my car and things. He told me to take it one day at a time. That made everything so much worse. It's like I have no purpose anymore. What am I supposed to do? I can only look at so many pictures, Alex. I can only walk around these floors so many times, read over pages after pages of my life and still not remember a damn thing before I get so mad that all I want to do is either destroy it all or take off."

"Why can't you feel like rediscovering it all over again?" she asked. The small smile that briefly twitched his lips almost made her smile.

"I was wondering that myself. I had said that much last night, about rediscovering it over again…and at the time, I felt the anticipation…the thrill of it. But, then, what happened to us happened. Nothing's getting better. Believe me, I want nothing more than to discover as much about my life as possible, but I found that I do it better alone. When I'm around you, it gets complicated."

Alex sighed as she remembered everything they'd talked about last night. How it was hard for him to be around her; to see her and knowing she was waiting, and hoping, for him to suddenly turn into the man she loved. He had told her of a memory he had, but she realized it was during a time they weren't together; it had been when he was walking alone, down a street. Since then, he hadn't had any more memories. She wondered if it was due to the fact that since then he'd been around her more. There were so many things that she didn't understand about his amnesia, but she would think that being around her, and his things, his life, that it would help. But, for him, it seemed to have made it that much harder.

"If in order for you to get better, and to start remembering, you need to be away from me then I can just hurry up and move out," she said. "You can still stay here, in your house, but it'll be without me here too."

He didn't look too convinced, but he gave a slight nod as he went to step away from her.

"Besides, I thought you wanted to take Nicole Wallace down for what she did to you?"

At that, he stopped moving as he looked back at her; there was a look of resignation and defeat in his eyes as he said, "Quite frankly, Alex…I don't care anymore. What happened to my memory, I was told was my own damn fault. Nicole may have abducted me, along with Brenda, and she may have tried to frame me for murder, but it didn't work. So, right now I'm a free man with my name cleared. And, I know that I'm a cop. That I still think like a cop…but, truth is, I'm not a cop anymore. I don't have a badge and I don't have a job. You're the cop. Logan's a cop. As for me, right now, I'm just a man, Alex. And, Nicole, all she wants to do is help me, and if she contacts me again, you know what…I just might let her."

Alex was speechless. She didn't know what to say, or to do, as she watched as he turned and left the kitchen. Seconds later, a door shut and she still couldn't get herself to believe what she'd just heard.

Finally, after a couple of minutes, she pulled out her cell phone and called Logan. Since she couldn't watch the interview earlier that day she didn't know what had happened. After two rings, Logan answered.

"Logan."

"Hey, Logan."

"Eames! Just the person I was about to call."

Alex sat down at the table as she asked, "You were about to call me?"

"Yeah; look, I think you need to come into 1PP now. Since Goren was cleared, you can help with the case, and we did some further digging, literally, in the hospital room where Caleb was killed and at the warehouse, and we found a few things that were overlooked."

"Implicating what?"

"Motive," Logan told her. "And it's not what we think. Goren was right earlier when he said that Nicole wasn't done, that she's going to kill more and that she's trying to tell a story."

Alex shook her head in confusion, saying, "What are you talking about, Mike?"

He was quiet for a moment before saying, "Oh, right. You weren't here for the interview with Goren. You really need to get in here so I can fill you in."

"I'm on my way," she told him before flipping her cell shut. Without telling Robert that she was leaving, she grabbed her purse and coat and quickly left.

* * *

He paced around the floor, trying to think when he heard a door shut in the apartment. It wasn't from the hall so he knew Alex must have left. Sighing loudly, he hoped it hadn't been from something he'd done or said that made her leave. What he'd told her was the truth, if he was contacted again by Nicole Wallace, he would go along with her willingly. A part of it was to see what she had to offer him as far as helping him, but also to keep an eye on her.

Thinking of that made him once again go over their previous conversations. The notepad he'd been taking notes in was on the desk and he picked it up and flipped through his scribbling of the things Nicole had told him. If he was right and Nicole was telling a story, than that meant she had to have been dropping clues to him. He remembered thinking that she was speaking in some sort of code that he didn't quite understand. But, she knew he had no memory. So, she knew not to speak of anything that he would have known from their history together.

So, there had to be a source for him to turn to, a text as it were. It had to be something easily accessible. She had told him that she was his messenger. To him that felt like something more than just the general reference to a messenger relaying information, but more…omnipotent, divine in a way.

Stopping in his steps, he rubbed at his head as that thought took hold. He was in a motel room, with only his clothes and money…What was in every motel or hotel room? What could he look to for guidance?

He looked over at his bookshelves and saw it among the many assortments of books. Going over to the shelf, he pulled out his bible.

Sitting down at the desk, he stared at the book and the lettering of the King James Bible and realized he didn't know where to begin. Leaning back, he thought about waking up in the empty motel room, no memory of what had happened and all of his belongings missing…They had been taken by Nicole, used against him to help frame him.

Leaving the study, he went to the kitchen and pick up the package envelope Logan had given him that contain all of his belongings. He took it with him back to the study and dropped the contents onto the desk.

He first searched his wallet and found nothing of importance before picking up his cell phone. Going to the date he'd been abducted, he picked up a pen and wrote down the date and times of the last call and text on a blank sheet from the notepad.

_February 19__th__, 11:26. _The duration of that phone call made at that time was 3 minutes and 56 seconds.

_February 19__th__, 12:48._ That was the time that the text message was sent.

Tapping the pen on the pad, he rubbed at his jaw as he realized that the date didn't make any sense. The text was after midnight, but the date was still on the nineteenth. He picked up the phone and wondered if the date could be tampered with until he realized that the clock was on the 24-hour mode. Instead of reading _21:19_, it read _9:19_, which would make it AM instead of PM.

His clock had been tampered with so that the date wouldn't change from the 19th to the 20th. So, the 19th had to be important for him to know. Flipping the bible open, he flipped to the 19th book, the Book of Psalms, and to chapter 11. There was no verse 26, so he figured it meant lines 2 through 6.

"For, lo, the wicked bend their bow, they make ready their arrow upon the string, that they may privacy shoot at the upright in heart. If the foundations be destroyed, what can the righteous do? The Lord is in his holy temple, the Lord's throne is in heaven: his eyes behold, his eyelids try, the children of men. The Lord trieth the righteous: but the wicked and him that loveth violence his soul hateth. Upon the wicked he shall rain snares, fire and brimstone, and an horrible tempest: this shall be the portion of their cup."

Re-reading the lines, he underlined a few keys words and points that seemed to fit, like the line "if the foundations be destroyed, what can the righteous do?" It felt like his foundation had been destroyed without a memory. Even if Nicole hadn't planned on his amnesia, having no memory of what had happened during that period in the motel room would have still shaken his ground. There was also the line "the Lord trieth the righteous". This was a test, or at least it felt like he was being tested. Being tested by the Lord…who was the Lord in his case? Nicole? Was he a pawn in her game? The answer to that was yes, he was. Who else did the Lord test? Job.

Rubbing at his head, he felt a dull ache start to build. He didn't like where this was going. He flipped to the next chapter, and to the lines 4 through 8.

He read them over and all he got from them was that his Lord, if it were Nicole, was guiding him and telling him the truth. She was trying to help him find the truth; that was what she had told him. So, her words were pure. They weren't lies.

Sighing, he shook his head at the lengths Nicole was going through to get her point across to him. But, he had to admit, it was working. He was fully engaged now and eager to find out more. He wasn't sure if the duration of the call, the 3 minutes and 56 seconds was a part of the message. He also didn't know if it referred to Psalms 3:5-6, or if it meant the third book of the bible, chapter 5, verse 6.

He figured it wouldn't hurt to look at both. So he turned the pages back to the third chapter and read verses 5 through 6. What he read made his back stiffen.

"I laid me down and slept; I awaked, for the Lord sustained me. I will not be afraid of the ten thousands of people, that have set themselves against me…"

That was a near direct reflection of being in that motel room and awakening to being framed and accused of a crime, and having people turn against him. There was no reason to check out the third book, but he decided why not as he flipped from Psalms to the Book of Leviticus, chapter 5, verse 6.

"And he shall bring his trespass offering unto the Lord for his sin which he hath sinned, a female from the flock, a lamb or a kid…" he stopped reading as he felt his gut twist. "For a sin offering…make an atonement…"

He thought back to what he had said before, that this was a story. If that was the case, and if this verse was part of that story, than that meant that the offerings for his atonement for his sin was a woman and a kid.

The woman had to be Brenda, and the kid was Caleb.

He shut the bible as he picked up the phone Nicole had given him that day in the subway. It was time to confront her with all of this.

Flipping the phone open, he decided to contact her first.

TBC…


	17. Going Down Slow

A/N: Thank you all for the reviews! I knew when I started this story that it wouldn't be a long one. Its main purpose was to deal with a few things; mainly to get Bobby out of the extremely deep and dark hole I had him in, but to also put him on a different path for my next story. So, this is sort-of a segue into the next story which is currently in the pre-development phase. Not everything will be brought to its conclusion by the end of this story; I'm aiming for 20 chapters, so 3 more to go.

Enjoy!

* * *

_Major Case Squad_

Alex headed straight to the conference room as soon as she spotted Logan in there along with Detective Barek. The two looked tired and highly stressed as she pushed the door open. "What's this about having a motive?"

They both turned to her and Logan immediately said, "She's using the Bible."

Alex shut the door as she asked, "How is that motive?"

Logan jumped out of his seat and grabbed a photograph off the table along with a copy of the King James Bible. "We went back to search the warehouse. We found this carved on the floor where the body had been laying. Because of the chard floor, it wasn't spotted at first. Barek spotted it, actually."

Alex took the photo and looked at it. Sure enough, carved into the burnt floor, into the concrete, was a chapter and verse for the book of Job. "She's using the bible to tell her story? That's what you meant on the phone?"

"Bobby told us during the interview that whoever the killer is, that they're going to extremes in trying to get a point across, to tell a story, and that they weren't going to stop anytime soon. These two are just the first victims."

"The mention of sacrifices is in the verse," Barek spoke up, "And there's more to come." She then looked over at her as she said, "Job lost his wife."

Alex sucked in a sharp breath and gave a nod, saying, "And you think Nicole has put Bobby in the role of Job. I'm his girlfriend…"

"You could be next, Eames," Logan said as he tossed the bible on the table.

"This is a game," Barek said as she looked over at her. "Based on the wager God made with the Devil. Nicole has put herself in the role of Bobby's God."

"Then who's the Devil?" she asked, looking back and forth between the two cops.

They all looked at one another with no answer to that question. "I bet we figure that out, we'll solve this," Logan finally said as he pulled out his phone. "The best person to go over all of this with would be Bobby. Even without a memory, I bet he could piece all this together faster than anyone of us."

Alex gave nod as she asked, "Anything else I need to know?"

"We also found an address," he told her as he pressed the cell to his ear and waited.

"To where?" Alex asked Barek since Logan was trying to reach Bobby.

"A house in Brooklyn," Barek told her as she typed something on a laptop. "I'm checking to see who the current owner is."

Logan cursed and shook his head, saying, "He's not picking up." Shutting his phone, he told her, "We went back to the hospital room where Caleb had been killed. Barek spotted something on one of the photographs of the room. There was a piece of paper under the hospital bed. It wasn't collected."

"And since that room was sealed off because it was a crime scene," Barek finished for Logan, "it had yet to be cleaned. The paper was still there."

"I'm assuming that's where you found the address?" Alex asked as she looked to Logan.

"It was in Caleb's handwriting. He had to have known that Nicole was going to turn on him, or at least suspected. We're thinking that the address is where Nicole had been hiding out, or at least where they had been meeting."

"If he wanted it to be found, why didn't he just hand it over to Bobby when he showed up?" Alex asked, mostly to herself as she tried to make sense of this new piece of evidence.

Logan gave a shrug, telling her, "Maybe he tried, or maybe he didn't write it until after Bobby left."

"The property," Barek said, speaking up from her spot at the table, "is currently being held by a real-estate company. It's been on the market for years."

Alex sighed and looked at the time. There wouldn't be anyone up at this hour, and they wouldn't be able to search the place until the morning. That was if the company allowed them access. If they had to wait for a warrant, it could take another day. "We can try to get in contact with one of the realtors."

"It's midnight," Barek said as she closed the laptop.

"We can wake them up," Logan said as he headed toward the door.

Alex noticed how anxious he was; Mike couldn't keep still and he'd been up moving around the moment she got there. "I agree," she said as she went to follow Logan out. "And enroute to the house, you can fill me in on what happened during your interview with Bobby."

"Hey!" Barek yelled as she jumped up from the table. "I'm lead on this investigation and you two aren't even officially on this case. Captain Deakins-"

"Captain Deakins is home, in bed, and I'm not going to be the one to wake him up," Logan said as he grabbed his coat. "As for this investigation, we've been helping since the start and we haven't been technically kicked off the case. Deakins have been letting us sit in even after placing himself on the case. He knows that we'll be able to do more good than harm by working it."

"At least let me call him," Barek said as she was already pulling out her phone. "He might want to be there to ensure we don't catch any heat from the brass."

Alex thought it over and gave a nod in agreement. "She's right, Logan. Even though I'm back and able to work, that doesn't mean I've been given the okay to work this case."

"But Brenda's case is yours," Logan said.

"Right, so why would have I permission to go off with you to follow up on a lead from Caleb's case," she told him. Alex wanted nothing more than to go with them, but the brass could really hem them up if it were found out she was helping them.

Barek held up a hand, silencing them, as she spoke into the phone, "Captain? I'm sorry to wake you, sir, but we've made some progress on the case." She was quiet for a moment, listening to Deakins on the other end, before saying, "Sir, you don't need to come in. We were-….Yes, we're going to follow up on a lead...We found an address. It could be where Nicole had been hiding out this whole time." Barek gave a nod and said, "It's in Brooklyn but the thing is it's been the property of a real-estate company, Orchid Realtors, for years." she looked over at her and said, "She's here."

Alex tensed and waited to hear whether or not she was to stay at the department or…

"All of us?" Barek asked and smiled slightly at her. "I'll text you the address, sir. We'll meet you there." She closed the phone and told her, "Looks like you're coming with us. The captain will meet us at the house."

"What about the realtors?" Logan asked.

"Apparently Captain Deakins will take care of it," Barek said as they headed for the elevators. "He said he had a friend he can call."

As they headed out of the building, Alex pulled out her own cell phone and tried to call Bobby. She knew that he wouldn't be sleeping. When it went straight to voicemail, she had a sinking feeling in her stomach. Something was wrong and she knew it.

Trying to push that thought down, she followed them to a department issue SUV as Logan climbed into the driver's seat.

* * *

_Subway Station_

_Brooklyn_

He'd been waiting for almost an hour before she finally showed. Having yet to spot him, he took a moment to study her, look her over, and in that short period of time he knew he interrupted her evening. She looked like she'd been on a date, and for how long it had taken her to get there, she had probably been in the city.

The subway that had brought her to him shut its doors and started down the track. Once it was gone, and the platform empty, she sighed heavily and turned away from his direction and pulled out her cell phone.

"An atonement for a sin…" he spoke up, causing her to turn back around. Dropping his arm from where it'd been lying over his head, he stared up at the ceiling of the station and said, "Offerings to the Lord in order to redeem my soul." Tilting his head toward her, he said, "You murdered for me."

Nicole pocketed her cell as she smiled slightly. "The Misses kick you out. You have to take to sleeping on subway benches?"

"I find that I think better if I'm staring upwards…toward the heavens." He dropped his legs and sat up straight on the bench as he glared over at the woman. "I'm a brother to dragons, and a companion to owls. You made me Job."

"You're already Job, Robert, I only made you realize it," she told him as she looked around the empty subway terminal. "I didn't know a subway could be so quiet."

"And for some reason I did. I can't tell you my birthday, but I do know that this station is the less populated in Brooklyn from the hours of 11 pm to 4 am." Leaning back on the bench he stared at her as he asked, "Tell me, Nicole, what exactly are my sins?"

Nicole sighed, sounding a little annoyed, before she gave him that sly smile of hers. The one that told him she knew more than him, and liked it. "You think it'll be that easy? Ask and you shall receive?"

Shrugging, he said, "Why not? And I'm no longer interested in playing these games. Maybe the man I was before would've been more patient, but I don't have his knowledge. I can't keep up with your logic, with your thinking, because I don't even have the picture to the puzzle we're trying to piece together."

"But you figured out a part of it already. How did you figure out the bible references so quickly?"

"Why, impressed?" he sarcastically asked.

Nicole shook her head. "Hardly."

He knew she was lying; she just couldn't admit it. "Are you familiar with the Occam's Razor principle?"

"Ah, let's see. It's the principle that if you have two theories with the same evidence, the simpler is the one most likely to be true," Nicole said as she slowly approached him. "I didn't think I had been so-"

"Simple," he said as he stood. He didn't want her getting anywhere near him, not until he was ready for it. "You obviously think too highly of yourself if you actually thought that you were being clever." The way Nicole tensed, her teasing smile fading, he knew he'd hit his mark. "I've been doing a lot of thinking," he said as he started to slowly circle around her. "The planted evidence, drugging me to forget what happened in that motel room…you wanted it to be a conspiracy. And with the only key piece to the puzzle, and to my motive, being locked inside a cell phone which would've been buried in evidence lockup…never to be found. Was that really your plan? Because the irony of it just seems so…well, childish."

Nicole had to turn around to face him since he stopped walking once he got behind her. "I take offence to that, Robert. And I left something for the cops to find, in case they missed it with the phone. They aren't intelligent enough to have spotted the tampering I did to the cell."

"You know," he continued to say, ignoring her, "conspiracy theories are pretty much the opposite of Occam's razor. Where the razor principle cuts away the unnecessary, conspiracy theories add the unnecessary in order to protect the truth at the heart of it all. Once the principle exposes that truth, the conspiracy theory tends to fall apart under its own weight." Stepping up to her, he told her, "You overlooked some small details. It's okay," he quickly assured her, "it wasn't your fault. You did the best you could, but didn't take into account the unforeseen circumstances. Hindsight's a bitch, isn't it, Nicole?"

Nicole was having trouble recovering but then he saw her teasing smile return. She was trying to regain the upper hand, but he wasn't going to let her.

"Your lies are collapsing all around you."

"Now you're talking crazy, Robert. For once I'm not trying to lie to you. I shouldn't have expected any less. Even with a blank slate you'll never be rid of the scars of your past. Your mistrust of people, it's hereditary. You're destined to have insane leaps in reasoning."

"Oh, now I'm the crazy one? You're the one killing people and using the bible to justify it."

"I'm here to help you see the truth."

"My _supposed_ sin, perhaps?" he questioned as he stepped away from her. "There isn't one, Nicole. That was part of the unnecessary lie surrounding your reasons to kill. The truth is you wanted to get rid of your conspirators by trying to pin their deaths onto me. Payback was your real reason. Your real motive. All this…the bible verses, the excessive overkill, just more unnecessary layers to confuse-"

Nicole smiled wider and he suddenly knew he was missing something. "Not your sin, Robert," she interrupted him. "Not yet, at least. But a sin I guess you could say that was passed onto you. Just like that mistrust of yours."

He shook his head as he tried to understand what that meant. He didn't have anything.

"Come now, Robert, you've gotten yourself this far. Keep thinking and maybe something will formulate in that…insane head of yours."

It didn't take long for him to go back over what he'd read in bible that helped him to figure this all out. God, the Heavenly Father…And then, it clicked. Hindsight really was a bitch. "The sins of our fathers." _"Daddy's, Bobby. The subject is daddy's."_ He shook his head at the sudden memory that flashed before him. He was in an interrogation room, much like the one he'd been in earlier that day. Sitting across from him was Nicole; she spoke those words to him, stilling his movements, his heart. "We've had a conversation like this before," he said as he raised his eyes to her.

Nicole smiled shyly, nearly looking innocent despite the evil he knew now lurked underneath. "Very good, Robert."

"But, I don't know my father. I don't remember anything about him."

"This would've been all so bloody easy if you hadn't had lost your memory. I hate having to explain, especially when watching you squirm is so much fun."

Glaring at her, he said, "Caleb."

"What about him?"

"He's my half-brother…" he said as he wrinkled his head in confusion, "…meaning different parentage. Yet, he was one of you conspirators." His head was starting to hurt as he rubbed his hand over his head. "Why would he…?"

"Yes, Robert, why would he," she said with a slight chuckle. "I'll leave you to figure that part out on your own. Your call had disrupted my evening and I'm anxious to get back to it."

As Nicole went to walk by him, he grabbed her arm. Pulling her close against him, he heard the roar of a subway train getting closer as he reached into his left jacket pocket.

Nicole hadn't expected his sudden move as she tensed in his arm and stared up at him. There was no fear in her eyes, only annoyance. "Robert-"

"I told you I'm not interested in playing these games with you," he stressed as he stare hard into her eyes. Leaning close, he asked, "Do you know why I had you meet me here?" When she didn't give him an answer as the train screeched to a stop behind him, he said, "My move."

He saw the confusion in her eyes as he brought his left hand around to her neck. Before there could be a look of registration in her eyes, or fear, there was nothing as her eyelids slid close and her body went limp in his arms. The doors to the train opened as he wrapped her arm around his neck and carried her onto the train. The two people on the same train car as him didn't even give them a second glance as he cradled her limp body in his lap as he sat down.

* * *

_Canarsie, Brooklyn_

_Staring up into his eyes, he saw a sudden flash of recognition in Caleb's eyes and the anger that was burning deep intensified. "Sleep well?" he asked as he twisted the Q-tip around._

_Caleb jerked, making him hold him down harder as he twisted his fingers around in the wound. He could hear the gasp of a scream behind his hand. He stared hard at him and when he saw that there was nothing in Caleb's eyes, not even fear, he leaned closer, getting right next to his ear and asked, "Do you know who I am?"_

_The fear of nothing turned quickly to confusion. Moving his hand, but keeping pressure on his jaw and neck, he heard Caleb strain out, "I know…ever'thin'…cop." With a slight chuckle, he said, "I've been in your house…"_

_His breathing grew heavier as his frustration was building. "You told me that you never knew your father. That he died when you were a kid…Were you telling me the truth?"_

_Caleb stared at him for a long moment, refusing to answer. He twisted the Q-tip around again, causing Caleb to struggle against him as the heart monitor started to beep faster. "Yes," Caleb groaned out as the monitor beeped faster._

_"Are you lying?" _

_Caleb shook his head no as he swallowed around a muffled scream of pain._

_"Do you know who he is…A name?" When he didn't receive an answer, he yelled, "A name?!"_

_Caleb shook his head no again._

_Pulling his hand away, he looked at the bloody Q-tip as he moved away from the bed and put it back into the wrapper. He was expecting Caleb to start screaming but when he didn't, he glanced down and saw that Caleb was staring up at him as he held his bloody side and he shook with strangled breaths of air. The stare Caleb was giving him was filled with so much hate it would have scared any other man. It didn't scare him._

_They stared into each other's dark eyes for a long moment. Not moving off of Caleb just yet, he asked as he moved his hand away but continued to press hard against the side of the kid's throat, "Who is it?"_

_"Who?" Caleb asked between tight gasps of air. The monitors started to beep but this time it was from lack of oxygen._

_"You know who. The person whose been following me around," he said as he pressed down, causing to beeping rhythm get faster._

_Smirking slightly, as best as anyone could with a forearm in their jaw and throat, Caleb didn't say anything as the monitor's rapid beeping slowed. Pressing harder, he heard Caleb squeak out in a strangled gasp, "Do it."_

_Staring down into his eyes, he knew Caleb was done answering his questions. He'd rather die. Letting him go, he backed away as he grabbed the two wrappers and put them in the zip-lock bag. "You're not worth it." He slipped the gloves off, picked up his coat, and then left the room._

His head buzzed with hazy fog and ached like he'd been broken from a deep sleep. Rubbing at his head, he breathed out deeply as that memory invaded his thoughts. During the ride on the subway, he'd been trying to force himself to remember something, anything, and now he finally did. He remembered being that hospital room right before Caleb died. It had come back to him, and he had recovered some answers. They shared the same father, yet, he knew that Caleb didn't know who that father was because he had never met the man.

What did that mean, if anything?

He took another drag off the cigarette in his hand as he heard a light moan coming from the woman seated in front of him. Taking his eyes off the floor, he shifted them up to hers and saw her confusion the moment her eyes opened. She looked around the room and then over at him. At not being able to talk, she grew still and then at the restriction in her movements, she grew frustrated. There was no fear coming from Nicole. Not a single shred of it.

Sociopaths were like that. They didn't show fear because nothing scared them.

They locked eyes for a long moment and he could tell she was amused. Blowing smoke out of his throat, he gestured around, saying, "I saw where they were going to tear this place down. Demolish it to put up a new facility in its place." He tapped the ashes on the floor before taking another puff off the smoke. "I remember my mother having to come here a couple of times. Funny, the moment I walked in, carrying you in my arms, I remembered doing the same with her. I think I was only sixteen years old. She had injured herself and I had to carry her here to be seen by a doctor."

Nicole only continued to look at him because she couldn't talk around the duct tape he had covering her mouth.

"When I knew I was going to take you…I didn't know where to take you. I kept trying to think of somewhere that would be simple yet…potent. I thought about taking us back to the motel room. Then, I had a strange urge to come back here. To my childhood neighborhood. You're one crazy bitch, Nicole, but you're obviously onto something. And, you know, I figured since you're trying to tell me something about my parents, well, this seemed as good as a place as any."

He put the cigarette out on the floor as it burnt down to the butt and leaned back in the chair. Reaching around to his back, he pulled out the gun he'd had found in his house. It was in his dresser drawer so he knew it wasn't Alex's gun. Plus, it was for a lefty.

At seeing the gun, he saw it in her eyes for the first time. She was uncertain, confused, and slightly fearful. Getting up, he walked over to her and slowly pulled the tape off her mouth. Pain filled her eyes as the tape was being removed and he felt the tiny twist of satisfaction at seeing it. Tossing the tape to the floor, he told her, "I want answers."

"Robert, this isn't like you."

He shook his head at her as he stepped away. "Not like me? Nicole, I have no idea what that means. I don't know what I'm like; all I know is what I am now. Right now, I'm pissed off. Right now, I'm sick and tired of playing games with you. You killed two people. You're a murderer, and you," he said pointing the gun at her, "are completely fucked."

"Such vulgar-"

"I'm not the man I was before, Nicole. Whoever this Bobby guy was that you enjoyed playing like I puppet, he's gone. You made sure of that."

Nicole shut her mouth as she looked him over, really looked him over, for the first time. She looked deep into his eyes and swallowed hard. "I understand."

"Oh? What do you think you understand?" he asked.

She took a breath and said, "Without any past, without a moral high-ground guiding you any longer, you're being consumed by your true nature."

He stared hard at the woman before him as his brows nitted together in confusion. "What're you-"

"You're letting your rage get the best of you, and you're acting on it instead of thinking things through. You're becoming just like mummy and daddy."

His jaw clenched as he steadied his sudden urge to actually hit her. And he was shocked at that urge. The last thing he should've wanted to do was hit a woman. However, he told himself, this wasn't just any woman. She was a crazy sociopath who murdered people. She was a woman he'd been trying to capture and put away behind bars for years. And she had taken him, cuffed him to a bed in a motel room, and destroyed his whole world.

_He couldn't move. As his heavy eyelids fluttered open, confusion and fear set in as the realization of paralysis took over. The only thing he could move were his eyes and he saw the passing streets as neon lights streamed through his glazed sight; the lights stretched on for miles._ _They were the lights of the city and of passing cars, but they were fuzzy, fragments of light, movement, and shadow that appeared and then disappeared. Static noises vibrated in his ears as he continued to stare out into the world that kept moving, going on and on. He tried to move again, this time his head, but couldn't. He couldn't even feel the window he was leaning against. _

_What was going on and why couldn't he move? An overwhelming sense of helplessness gripped him with that thought, making his slowly beating heart tremble. Closing his eyes, he willed the feeling to go away._

_When he woke, an unfamiliar fan circled above him against a dark grey plastered ceiling. Looking around to his right, there stood a woman. It was Brenda. Dark hair tickled at his face as she leaned over his body. That was when he realized he could feel._

_He could break free. _

_Jerking his arms forward, they caught and strained as he pulled. Looking back toward the head of the bed, his arms were bound by a set of handcuffs…His handcuffs, he wondered as he laid in a bed that wasn't his own. Letting his eyes fall back on the only other person in the room, he felt the hot trembling rush of rage as his ears started to ring._

_The ringing was starting to hurt his head as tears of pain welled. She had done something to him. She had taken him, abducted him and …what? Drugged him? Clenching his eyes shut, he felt her fingers skim down over his bare chest. The tingling was like being electrocuted. Trying to move away from her touch, it only caused the cuffs to tighten around his wrists._

_Then he heard a noise. He turned his head toward the source of it and saw the bathroom door open and out walked another woman. It was her._

_Nicole._

He was remembering more. Not just what had happened in that motel room but that entire day was coming back. He remembered visiting his mother, the conversation with Alex on the phone before heading out to his car. Then there was a woman's voice. It hadn't been Nicole who drugged him the parking lot, but Brenda.

She had been the one driving his car with him in it back to the city. She had parked his car in a parking lot down the street and she had made him walk with her down the street to the motel.

_He watched as Nicole walked out of the bathroom. Struggling against the cuffs, he watched as Brenda pulled out a small bottle out of her purse and bristled at that syringe she held in her hand. This wasn't happening, he told himself as he shook his head trying to clear it. It was hurting and still foggy. Whatever he'd been drugged with it was making it hard to think straight. Shifting his legs up, he scooted himself up the bed and gripped the cuffs with both hands and pulled as hard as he could, trying to break the chain or the bed, whichever gave first._

_Nicole crossed the room to the TV stand; there was a radio sitting next to the TV and she turned it on. Whoever had used that radio last had left it on an oldies station that played the blues. He recognized the song that was starting to play immediately, having been a fan of the music and the singer._

_It was Howlin' Wolf singing one of his favorites, 'Goin' Down Slow'. "I have had my fun…if I'd never get well no more…I have had my fun…if I never get well no more. Oh, my health is fadin', oh…Oh yes, I'm goin' down slow."_

_He didn't want to beg, and knowing that it would be a useless effort anyway, he didn't plead as he felt Nicole trail a finger lightly up his leg. Looking to Brenda as she came closer to him, he saw her put the syringe down on the table next to him along with the small bottle. He was expecting her to inject him with it, but when she didn't, he realized whatever they were about to do to him they wanted him to know it, to feel it, and that scared him even more._

"_Tell me, Bobby," Nicole suddenly whispered into his ear. "How far do you think her love would go if you betrayed her?" She __didn't have to tell him who the "her" in that question was She was talking about Alex. _"_If she thought you were exactly like your father?"_

_He breathed out as he shivered against his fear and hate at the woman leaning into him. "She knows I'm not like him. I'd never cheat on her."_

_Nicole's sly smile caught him off guard and he wanted nothing more than to whip it right off her face. "I'm not talking about cheating like William, Bobby. I'm talking about your real father."_

_He stared at her for a long moment because what she had just told him confused him. He wasn't understanding. Looking away from her, he saw what Brenda had been doing this whole time. She had brought some more stuff out of her purse and had placed them on the table._

"_We're going to have us some fun…"_

_He looked away from the planted evidence that Brenda had spread over the table: lines of cocaine, a Polaroid camera…and bottles of alcohol._

_Brenda filled the syringe with the liquid in the bottle as Nicole grabbed his arm. He struggled but it was a losing battle. He was cuffed and couldn't fight back._

"_Please write my mama," Howlin' Wolf's voice growled out as it was the only noise in the room. "Tell her the shape I'm in…Please write my mother…Tell her the shape I'm in. Tell her to pray for me…"_

_His head felt light and heavily as he lost focus of the two women in front of him. Before he forgot everything, he heard the final words from the song echo in his head, "Forgive me for my sins."_

_He didn't know how long he was out, but when he awoke, he was free of the handcuffs. Rolling onto his back, he started at the ceiling as he tried to focus his blurry eyes and foggy head. Rubbing at his eyes and his head, he turned and saw a clock next to the bed. It said it was 4:38. Looking toward the window, he saw it was dark outside. It was early morning._

_A sudden thought entered his head and he looked back to the table the clock was on. He saw empty bottles and white reside over a small mirror on the table. Sitting up, he looked around the empty motel room and felt the panic surge through him. It didn't matter where he was or why, because all the could think of was that if he was found like this he'd be in serious trouble. Moving as quickly as he could, which wasn't too fast since he could barely stand without the room tilting, he cleaned the table off and flushed what was on the mirror and tossed it along with the bottle in the trash before tying the trash bag and putting it by the door._

_Finding clothes folded on the dresser, he put them on and took the bag outside and threw in into the dumpster. Looking around the dark street, he had no idea where he was, and with that he had no idea who he was. Rubbing his head, he went back to the motel room and shut the door. He was tired still and his head was pounding; there was a pressure building and it was getting hot._

_He was burning up so he undressed again, tossing the clothes onto the floor. Going into the bathroom, he downed some water from the sink and stumbled as he lost conscious for a second, only catching himself on the counter. Leaving the bathroom, he laid back down in the bed as the room swirled and tilted around him. Closing his eyes, he figured he'd done all he could for now and let himself surrender back to the depths of a deep dark sleep._

"Believe me," he said as he shook that memory away. It was getting harder to think straight as an array of emotions hit him. "I've thought this through," he told her as he dropped his arm and walked back over to where he'd been sitting on the floor. Leaning against the far wall across from the woman he had bound to a chair, he sat back down on the floor and aimed the gun at her again, only this time resting his arm on his knees. "You wanted me to be found by the cops in that motel room. You wanted Alex to think I've lost it. You planted drugs, you made it look like I've been with a woman…I wouldn't have been able to defend myself. I had no memory of the events, no way of proving my innocence. But, I had woken up, got rid of the evidence before the drug you had given me knocked me out again."

Nicole only smiled slightly. That same sly smile he remembered from his memory.

"You're going to talk. Tell me everything," he told her.

"Or else?"

He didn't hesitate as he told her, "I'll kill you."

She actually laughed at him, saying, "You wouldn't."

He stared at her and he asked, "Who's my real father?"

She snapped her mouth shut and shook her head. Nicole was underestimating him. He knew that she still thought he was the same man as before; that he would never actually shoot her.

Taking a deep breath, he raised the gun, took aim…and fired.

TBC…


	18. Where You and I End

A/N: Thank you all for the reviews!

Enjoy!

* * *

_Canarsie, Brooklyn_

The bullet was only inches off its mark, but he saw her jump in panic, eyes go wide with fear and for a brief moment she had thought he had shot her.

Nicole stared wide-eyed at him before looking down at her body; relaxing slightly, she told him with a quiver, "You missed."

"Consider it a warning shot," he blatantly told her as he lowered the gun, placing it on the floor next to his foot.

"Someone could've heard," she told him with unease.

Without taking his eyes off her, he said, "Let's hope for your sake, someone did."

Nicole shifted in the chair, testing the binds as she told him, "I'm not going to tell you anything." She stared at him and said, "You wouldn't actually shoot me like this. You're a cop. If you do kill me, you'll have committed murder."

Giving a nod, he told her, "You're right. That's why I'm not going to shoot you. If you still refuse to answer me, I'm going to let you go. Once free, you're going to head to the exit and find that it's been locked. All the windows are either boarded up or have bars on them. The only way out of here, is to go up to the roof and climb down the ladder."

"And what? You're going to push me down? They'll know you did it."

"Payback, remember. Two can play that game. Besides, who's going to believe you that I held you here? All I have to tell them is that you're the one who brought me here. That I was the one tied to that chair, and you fell trying to make your escape. You're a wanted felon, a murderer, Nicole. No one will care when you die, especially not me." He got up from the floor, grabbed the gun, and as he opened the door he heard her voice behind him.

"Your brother knows."

He stopped with his hand on the doorknob and turned to face her.

"How'd you think I found out?"

He took that into consideration as he left the room and shut the door while Nicole yelled at him as he headed down the long hall and out the front door. Sitting down on the steps to the Canarsie Psychiatric Facility, he lit a cigarette and pulled out his cell phone. The building was sitting abandon in an empty lot, surrounded by a boarded up strip mall and empty houses. The whole neighborhood was going to be under reconstruction along with the old mental clinic that he was holding Nicole prisoner in. He knew no one was around, and those that were could care less.

He looked through the contacts on the phone, found the name and number he was looking for, and made a call. As he waited, he wondered if he'd be asleep or awake. Looking at the time on his watch, he realized it was after one in the morning.

After a couple of rings, the man answered. "Goren?"

Rubbing at his forehead, cigarette in hand, he said, "I've got Nicole Wallace."

There was silence on the line before he asked, "Where?"

"I'm not ready to let you know that," he said as he glanced around the street, taking in the light poles, row of houses and dead lawns, broken up concrete sidewalks and shoes hanging from the power lines. "I can't let her kill any more people because of me…I just, I can't."

"Anything you do to her, it's not going to look good for you. You could be brought up on charges."

"If she files charges."

Again, a long moment of silence followed and he knew exactly what the cop was thinking. "Don't do anything stupid."

"Too late, detective," he told Logan before flipping the phone shut, ending the call.

Taking another look around the street, and at not hearing any sirens shrilling in the distance, he finished his cigarette and headed back inside. This time when he shut the main entrance door, he chained it from the inside and placed the lock back on it.

* * *

_East Flatbush, Brooklyn_

Logan pocketed his cell as he turned to everyone in the SUV; Eames was in the backseat and the mention of Bobby's name, she had sat up and leaned into the gap between the two front seats. "He has Wallace."

"What'd you mean he has her?"

"Just like I said. He has her; says he can't let her kill anyone else because of him," he told her as he pulled the keys from the ignition.

"You think he's going to kill her?" Barek asked as she once again took out her cell phone.

He glanced over at the detective and said, "I don't have a single clue what he's going to do, and neither do you. As far as I'm concerned, that phone conversation never happened. Who're you texting at this hour?"

"The Captain," Barek said as her cell chimed in her hand; indicating that she received an incoming text message. "Don't worry," she said as she looked over at him, "I won't tell Deakins what Goren said. Not yet anyway." She turned back to her phone and read the message. "We have clearance. The Captain will draw up the warrant, but we've been given the go-ahead."

They all got out of the SUV and started down the sidewalk toward the house. There weren't many houses left in Brooklyn, but East Flatbush and Canarsie still held quite a few. This house had been on the market for years and Logan had no idea why. It was big, with three floors, and beautiful; the only thing falling apart of it was the doors. The hinges were rusted and if he had to break it down to get it, it would've been a piece of cake.

Eames had her gun out anyway and Barek followed as she pulled hers while he checked the doorknob. It was locked but he expected it to be.

"How did Wallace get in?" Barek asked as she looked around the windows.

He'd been thinking the same and figured she had a key, picked the lock, or found some other way into the house. "Backdoor?"

"I'll check," Eames said as she started off the porch.

"I'll go with you," Barek told her and he watched as they headed around the building.

Logan studied the door and realized that there was no other lock on the door. Usually when a house was between owners, and property of a realty company, they had their own locks put on the door. That could mean that Nicole knew someone within the company who could've taken the lock off for her. Stepping back from the door, he took in the 'For Sale' sign out front and got the name of the realtor: Benjamin Lubik.

Pulling out his cell phone, he called Captain Deakins. "Evening, Cap. Sorry to bother—"

"Cut to it, Logan," Deakins interrupted. "What'd you got?"

"I think Wallace got to the realtor. His name's Benjamin Lubik."

"I'll see what I can find out about him. Have you gotten in yet?"

Logan heard a noise behind the door before it was unlocked and swung open. Barek smiled at him as she left the door open. "We're in now. I'll call you back once we've searched place."

"Okay. I've got CSU headed your way now, along with a couple of uniforms. Officer Adams has the warrant for you."

"That was quick," he said as he took out a flashlight from his pocket and followed Barek through the living room.

"Let's just say I collected on a few favors. Keep me posted."

"You got it, Cap," he said before he hung up.

The house was dusty and there were white sheets covering all the furniture that was left in the house, a chandler hung from the ceiling—also covered with a white sheet—and looked to be dangling from one wire. The thing could fall at any moment. Eames joined them from the kitchen and shook her head. All clear so far.

"We'll split up," he told them as he headed for the stairs. "I'll take up here and you two can take the basement."

"Why don't we all stick together," Barek said as she also headed for the steps. "It's procedure."

"But we don't' have too much time before we're joined by uniforms and a team of CSI's," he argued as he hurried up the steps. "This place is empty."

"For all we know," Barek called back.

Logan looked over his shoulder and saw that she was heading off with Eames toward the back of the house. Getting to the top of the stairs, he pulled his gun and started to check the rooms one at a time. The first door on his right was open so he peered in and saw that it was empty. Going further down the hall, he has to push open the door to get a look. In the middle of the room was a table by a closed open window and a very old bed. On the bed was new bedding and on the table there was a lamp and a big, thick, packaged envelope.

There was a closet just to the left of the window; Logan went over to it to check inside. Reaching down, he slowly opened the door and shined the light in. It was empty. He turned to the window and looked out. There was a small gap between the houses. If he wanted he could open the window and reach out and touch the other brick wall.

A creak in the floorboard startled him and he turned around to see someone in the dark, over him. The light from his flashlight caught the glint of something metallic in the man's hand and he immediately blocked the arm coming down. He felt a jab in his side as he dropped the flashlight and shoved his gun into his attacker's gut as he shoved him into the wall.

"Police," he gritted out as he held the man against the wall.

A sudden head against his made him nearly blackout as he stumbled back. A pair of hands grabbed him around the neck and jerked his body down into a knee that jabbed up into his stomach. He could barely breathe as it knocked the air of him. Pointing his gun, he fired a round and knew that he hit this attacker because he heard a soft groan of pain that wasn't his own right before he was rammed into and taken to the floor. Logan never lost his grip on the gun, even when he was kicked in the face as the man got up and headed out the door.

Rolling over onto his side he yelled out through the open door, "Suspect on the move! Eames! Barek," he struggled to get out as he gargled through the blood that was filling his mouth.

Spitting the blood out, he grabbed the edge of the bed and pulled himself up before collapsing back down to his knees. He heard gunshots erupt deep in the house and then silence. He knew that the man who attacked him wasn't armed with a gun or else he would've been shot. But he had seen a weapon of some kind, a knife, maybe, in his hand.

Once he caught his breath and he felt good to stand, he pushed himself up.

"Logan?!" Eames yelled out.

He could hear her charging up the steps as he picked up his flashlight. "I'm all right!" he called out in a whisper.

It was a struggle to keep breathing as he started to cough around the tightness in his chest. Straightening up, and regretting doing so, he stumbled over to the table and caught himself on the edge of it. Shining his light on the envelope, Logan noticed that the address printed on it was for the _New York Ledger_. There was no name or return address, but he recognized the name of the reporter it was meant for.

He heard her outside the door and saw the light from her flashlight shine in on him. Looking over his shoulder, he asked, "Is Barek-"

"She's with the suspect. He's down."

Nodding, he told her with a strangled breath, "Check the rest of the floor, there could be others. Be careful."

Eames didn't say anything else as she headed down the hall. He had seen another room at the end and they still needed to check the attic. Groaning in pain, he bent down and took in a sharp breath. It felt like his heart was about to beat right out of his chest as he struggled to take in deep breaths. He wondered if he had a broken rib. Fighting through the pain, he returned his focus to the envelope. He flipped it over and didn't hesitate to tear it open. What he dumped out of it stilled his shaking sweaty hand. Picking up a picture, he stared at it with a sinking feeling in his gut. He then grabbed the other pictures, Polaroid's, and spread them over the table as he took them in. All were of the same man in the same room…

"Clear!"

He heard her coming back down the hall and he immediately gathered all the pictures and shoved them into his inside jacket pocket. There was no way in hell he was going to let CSU find those, or Alex; not yet anyway.

"What'd you got?" she asked as she walked up next to him.

Logan shook his head as he told her, "Envelope addressed to a reporter with the _Ledger_." He didn't debate his actions or his conscious too long before saying, "It's empty."

"Looks like someone tore it open to get at the contents," Eames spoke as she picked it up. She shined her light over it and then looked at his hands. "Logan, you're bleeding."

He looked down at her, confused, before looking at his right hand. He had that hand pressed over his left side because that was where his attacker had hit him. Looking at his left side, he pulled open his coat and jacket; blood was soaking through his shirt and spreading down to his leg.

Two knives? The tightness in his chest was getting worse as he doubled over and felt a trickle of blood out of the corner of his mouth.

"Logan…Mike!"

He felt his legs give out as he hit the floor. Staring up into Alex's panicked face, he whispered, "Don't let'm take…my jacket…"

"What? Mike, hang on. Help is on the way," Alex told him as she put her phone to her ear. "This is…Eames, badge...officer down…" her voice skidded in and out as his vision faded in and out.

Logan fought off the darkness surrounding him long enough to reach into his inside jacket pocket. Alex's scared eyes were the last thing he saw before everything went black.

* * *

_Canarsie, Brooklyn_

"What do you remember of your dear ol' daddy?"

He hadn't spoken to her for nearly half an hour as he sat on the floor and waited her out. This was the first she'd spoken since greeting him back into the room. Reaching up to rub at his eyes, he sighed in annoyance but at the same time a few things were coming back to him. When she asked that, he had a renewed understanding of some aspects of his childhood. There was nothing precise. No real memory, just a broad knowledge of what his life had been like. He remembered well enough now how much of a disappointment he was to his dad, to William.

Since he now knew his biological father wasn't the same man, he finally understood why. To his surprise, it didn't make anything worse. In fact, he felt enlightened and with that feeling he thought he could make peace with it.

Shifting on the floor, he dropped his hand from his eyes and leaned his head back. "We didn't get along. I wasn't interested in the things he wanted me to be interested in; even when I tried to be."

"Like whoring around and drinking? Huh," Nicole said with a huff of laughter. "Funny, because you are interested in those things."

Smirking, he shook his head at her antics. Then that small smirk faded as he felt the truth in those words hit him; and did they hit him hard. A conversation he had with Alex not too long ago, on Christmas Eve if he remembered correctly, entered his tired mind. He sure wasn't a saint when it came to women, or to drinking. He used to over-indulge in both.

Clearing his throat, and shaking that memory away so he could stay focused, he told her, "He wanted me to be…a basketball star, or baseball…any sport really. I only played to get his attention. I was more interested in reading…Even though he liked reading himself, even poetry, he told me that it wasn't a way for a man to be a man. He said that reading was an outlet, but that I needed a…_manlier_, form of expression."

"Manlier form of expression. It's no wonder you took to proving yourself by becoming a bon vivant just like him. Like fathers like son. Pleaser-seeking degenerates, the whole lot of you. Your daddy was a drunkard, gambler, womanizer; he was a roué. And your real father, he was much more, and much worse. You're more like him than you know."

Staring over at the woman, he felt his jaw twitch as he listened to her. Swallowing around the tightness in his throat, he asked again, "Who is he?"

"I already told you, he's a sinner," she whispered over to him. "His sins are your sins. Look at yourself, holding me here at gunpoint," she mocked him with a sarcastic teasing voice. "Robert, I may not know who you are anymore, but neither do you."

Shaking his head at her, he told her, "I don't need to know everything to know who I am."

"You got yourself all figured out then? You'll really shoot me…_Bobby?_"

"I told you that I'll kill you…I never told you how."

With those words, Nicole went suddenly still. She eyed him for a long moment and he couldn't help but smile. She wasn't expecting that answer.

"You just said that I'm exactly like them. That I'm," he waved his hand around as he searched for the right word to use, "a degenerate sinner. Am I right, Nicole? You did say that, just now, those were your words about who I am." His hard stare never left her eyes as he got up off the floor. "So what makes you question my intentions of killing you?"

She had to look up as he approached her. There was a faint hint of a smile on her lips as she whispered up at him, "Your daddy wasn't a killer."

His daddy? Not his father…So, that meant what? That she was hinting that his real father was a killer? He gave a nod to her statement as he leaned down closer to her, and said, "No, but my real father was."

That faint of a smile dropped and he got his answer. He was right. Straightening up, he turned around and left the room again. Out in the hall, he pulled out his cell and dialed the same number as last time. Only this time it went straight to voicemail.

Sighing heavily, he flipped the phone shut and rubbed at his head. The pieces were starting to fall into place. He didn't have the whole picture yet, but he was getting closer. He knew that in order to get her to confess, it would have to be extreme. He would have to do something extreme, because he knew she wasn't going to trip up. Not while talking. She could give as much as she could take; and right now she was holding it together.

For all he knew, she was getting off on this whole thing. He wouldn't be surprised. He had thought that if he stopped playing her game that she would be rattled. That he could get to her if he turned the tables on her; if she was suddenly the helpless one. That turned out to not be the case. Nicole would rather die. She would let him shoot her before she talked.

That wasn't his intention anyway. He never intended to shoot her. He didn't even want her dead; he wouldn't care if she was, but he wasn't going to be the one to put her down. Not when he knew that it would be the easy way out for her. She needed to face her own past, her own demons, and she needed to accept responsibility for her crimes.

She needed to suffer for them. He would gladly watch her suffer.

Taking a cigarette out, he lit it as he thought how messed up that was. He figured it had everything to do with the woman in that room and all the people she murdered, all the pain she'd caused.

Flipping his cell open again, he called Logan once more. When it again went to voicemail, he hung up and called another number.

"Eames," she said loudly into the phone. He could hear a siren piercing his ear. It sounded like she was standing right next to it.

"What's going on?" he asked as a surge of panic hit him.

She was quiet for a second before saying, "Bobby?!"

For the first time since he'd woken up in that motel room, he could care less if he was called that. Walking further down the hall, he said, "Yeah. What happened?"

"It's Logan, he's been stabbed. We're on our way to the hospital," she told him. "I'm with him in the ambulance."

He felt his chest hurt at the thought of Logan being stabbed. The feeling snuck up on him because he wasn't expecting it. He felt sickened and angry. He was so angry he wanted to hit something. Logan was a friend.

When that thought entered his mind, he felt the urgency rush through him. He wanted nothing more than to leave and rush to the hospital. He felt he needed to be there; not just with Mike but with Alex. There wasn't too much he remembered yet about his time spent with the detective, but he knew they were close. He knew that Mike meant more to him than just being another cop.

"How is he?" he asked and he heard the way his voice shook. "Is he going to be okay?"

Alex was quiet for a moment and all he could hear was that damn siren. "He's lost a lot of blood. They're saying it pierced his lung, something called hemothorax."

He closed his eyes and covered his mouth. That wasn't a good sign.

"I don't know-"

"He's bleeding internally…and blood is collecting in his chest, uh…between his chest wall and lung. They need to drain it…Are they draining it?" He heard her say something but the siren blaring too loudly for him to understand. "Alex?!"

"Yes, they are, but it's not that simple. He was starting to couch it up when he collapsed."

"Son-of-a-bitch!" he yelled as he turned and hit the wall. Leaning against it, he took a breath as he thought the worse. Turning around, he slid down to the floor as he shook his head. Mike Logan could die.

"Bobby? Bobby?"

He had to clear his throat and swallow the lump in it before he spoke, "I'm here."

"We're at the hospital…St. Francis Mercy in Brooklyn…He's…Mike!"

Covering his face, he listened to her frantic voice and then the trembling of her voice. It was killing him that he wasn't there. Mike had saved his life, and he couldn't even be there. The memory of that night; of collapsing on a dark cold road in the middle of nowhere Staten Island, of a car pulling up next to him and Mike getting out and putting him in the backseat. He remembered him reaching out, taking his bloody hand in his own, and telling him to hold on.

"Alex?" he softly spoke into the phone. "Alex, what-"

"He flat-lined," she said, her voice soft and trembling. "They're trying to revive him now. I can't…I can't see. They have him in surgery. I can't, I don't know if…Hey!" she suddenly yelled into the phone. "No, I'm not leaving-…" she angrily yelled at someone. "Barek! Barek, call the Capt-"

He waited a second and then said, "Hello? Hell-…Alex?" There was nothing but silence and then the dial tone sounded in his ear. Pulling the phone away, he saw he had no signal.

He'd lost the call. Gripping the cell, he threw it against the wall and watched at it broke and fell to the floor; the battery slid to a stop next to his foot. Getting up off the floor, he kicked the battery away as he stalked down the hall and pushed the door open.

Nicole lifted her head up and flinched back as he charged at her as he took out his knife. "Robert-"

"Shut up," he quietly told her as he pulled the chair around and cut the binds. "Get up."

"I-" she went to say when he cut her off.

"I said get up!" he yelled as he grabbed her under the arm and lifted her out of the chair. Turning her toward the door, he pushed her towards it. "Go."

Nicole didn't question him again as she left the room. She had gone right for the front doors and at finding them locked, headed up the stairs.

"To the roof, Nicole. It's the only way out," he reminded her as he charged up the stairs after her. There were only four floors to the clinic and within seconds he was pushing the door open and stepping out behind her onto the roof.

He was over this. His memory was gradually returning, he was getting more clarity of what was going on between himself and Nicole. He knew now how to find out who his real father was, and most importantly, he no longer needed Nicole's help. Yes, he wanted her to admit to everything she did, but right now, while Logan was dying in a hospital room somewhere, he just wanted this to end.

She stood there, in front of him, and for the first time he saw pure fear in her eyes. Looking around the roof and out at the rooftops of the neighborhood, he shook his head. "This is it. This is where it has to happen. Where you and I end."

Nicole stared over at him and she smiled slightly. "We'll never end."

"You're wrong," he told her as he turned to look at her. "I'm done with you, Nicole. I'm done thinking about you. I'm done wondering about all the 'what if's'. It doesn't matter. You are who you are. And, you're not worth it. I know that now."

"You're not quitting on me, Bobby. Not ever," she strongly, angrily, stressed. "You still don't know who your father-"

"I don't care," he yelled as he approached her. "This was your way of getting back at me, Nicole. This was your sick demented way of keeping yourself implanted in my life. You can't let go," he said as he pointed his knife at her. He hadn't put it away. Maybe that was why she was so afraid. "You had to come back. You just always have to come back." He stepped right in front of her and she stepped back, trying to get away from him. "You'll never tell me," he said as he shook his head. "That's what all this is about. The game. Tit for tat; and with that game, there is never a conclusion. I could go at you all night and you'll never tell me. I have to find out for myself, right?" he said as he stepped closer still, backing her up until she had nowhere else to go. She was only a few steps away from the edge of the roof. "That's why you told me that my brother knew. You want me to go to him. You know we'll fight…You're using us, Nicole. And I'm tired of being used by you."

She stepped back again as he stepped closer. Nicole's eyes-widen slightly as she hit the short wall that prevented her from falling to her death. Looking over her shoulder, she turned back to him and said, "This was how you were going to kill me? I thought you were going to let me get to the ladder first."

"I'll let you in on a secret, Nicole," he said as he leaned down close, right to her ear. Whispering, he told her, "There is no ladder." He straightened, turned around, and headed for the door.

"Bobby, you can't leave me up here."

"I'm sure you'll find a way down. It's only four stories," he said as he grabbed a chain and lock he had placed earlier, when he arrived, by the door. "And, if I'm not mistaken…you do have nine lives, right? Too bad this time, you don't have a body of water to break your fall." Looking over at her, he smirked when he saw the look on her face. "By the way, if you do end up screaming loud enough to attract help, remember that with the fire department there're also cops. You'll be arrested onsite."

Nicole looked over her shoulder again before backing up to the edge of the roof. He watched her for a moment and wondered what she was doing. "I told you you'll never be rid of me."

He wrinkled his head in confusion as she stepped up onto the ledge. "You're not going to jump."

She shook her head. "If I die, you're the one held responsible."

"I'm not responsible for you committing suicide, Nicole. Get down," he told her as he dropped the chain and lock and started for her.

Nicole smiled wider and tilted her head; he knew that look. She was up to something. Then, she stepped back and dropped. His heart leaped into his chest as he saw her catch onto the ledge with her arms. He rushed over and grabbed one of her arms before she lost her grip. Her sudden drop and weight nearly caused him to fall over the side with her.

"Nicole!" he gritted through his teeth as he tried to pull her up. "Give me your other hand."

She refused as she dangled from his grip; looking down, she kicked at the air and her heels dropped from her feet and fell to the ground. Below her was a pile of rubble from the construction of the next building over. If she fell into that, he knew she'd die. There were pipes and metal rods sticking up out of the rubble. She'd be penetrated.

"Don't be stupid," he told her as he tried to grab her other arm with his right. "Reach up!"

He was losing his grip with his left hand and she wasn't helping with all the kicking she was doing. The scariest part, and the reason why he knew that she wasn't going to save herself, was that she wasn't saying a word.

She wasn't even screaming.

He remembered only hearing one scream the night Nicole went into the East River with her lover; one scream, and it had been from the dead girl.

"How would you feel?" she asked calmly as she turned her face up toward his. "How, Bobby?"

Gritting his teeth, he struggled to keep his grip as she used her feet to push off the side of the building. He couldn't answer that question; he refused to answer her. "You're not going to make me feel guilty if you fall," he told her instead.

She smiled. The bitch actually smiled. He was trying to save her life and she smiles at him. Nicole reached up with her other hand and instead of letting him grab it, she grabbed his left hand, and dug her nails into it. "You told me, you'll be satisfied if I die. Remember? That if you had found me in that warehouse, you would have shot me dead, and you would have been satisfied."

He closed his eyes and fought back the tears of pain from her digging into his hand, but he still refused to ease his grip from around her wrist. He was probably breaking her bones, but he didn't care. He wasn't going to drop her. Logan was dying, and he wasn't going to let Nicole die too. Not from suicide, not if he had anything to say about it.

"Why don't you just let me fall?!" she angrily yelled as she scrapped her nails down his hand, drawing blood.

Unclenching his jaw, he glared at her as he told her, "Because, when you die…it'll be from a needle in your arm. One that I put there after sending you to death row, and after the world knows what a psychotic bitch you are."

He looked along the wall and a few yards down he spotted a dumpster. The lids were closed and he could tell that it was packed full with trash and debris. Leaning further down, he grabbed her arm with his other hand and started to drag them along the ledge. He was glad he was tall, barely able to touch the rooftop with his feet, as he walked slowly along. Nicole was fighting him the whole way; trying to get him to loosen his grip. He even felt her trying to plant her feet on the side of the building and pull his arm as hard as she could.

Once he was in position, he let out a breath and let go. She looked startled, but she still didn't scream as she fell straight down and hit the top of the dumpster. She wasn't dead, but he bet both of her legs were broke.

He heard a soft moan of pain coming from her motionless body before he turned around and left the roof. Picking up the chain and lock on the way, he headed out of the building. Tossing the chain and lock into his car that had been parked out front since earlier that night, he started around to the side of the building as he pulled out his busted cell and put the battery back in it. He clipped on the back and turned it around; at seeing it turn on, he was relieved. He could call for the police.

Nicole was still where he dropped her but now there was no noises coming from her. Checking her pulse, he felt the heartbeat and sighed. She was out cold.

TBC...


	19. Who We Are

A/N: Thank you all for the reviews! One more chapter to go; it'll be a few days before I get it posted but it will be soon.

Enjoy!

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_St. Francis Mercy Hospital_

_Wingate, Brooklyn_

There was only one St. Francis Mercy in Brooklyn so it wasn't hard to direct the ambulance to it. Besides, there were only two hospitals close to Canarsie with ER's; St. Francis was the second. His left hand was throbbing from the puncture wounds done by Nicole's nails; they had given him some pain killers for it, but they were only Tylenol. An EMT named Travis told him he was going to need stitches once they arrived. He only nodded.

With a slow stop, the ambulance parked in front of the ER and the back doors swung open. He could see the cop cars that had followed pulling up behind the bus. Getting out of the back, he looked around and saw the other ambulance already there. A couple of doctors along with the EMT's were pushing the stretcher that held Nicole Wallace strapped down to it into the hospital. Around her neck was a brace to keep it straight; they didn't want her to accidently break it.

Two uniform officers followed him into the hospital that was already swarming with cops from Logan being there. Searching the ER waiting area, he didn't see Alex anywhere. She had told him before his cell lost reception that Mike was in surgery. They could be on a different floor by now. In recovery or…He shook his head. He didn't want to think of Mike being in the morgue.

"This way, sir," an officer told him, leading him to an open Triage room where a nurse was waiting.

The nurse went through the usual vital check as the officer took out his report book and pen. After he got weighed and his height taken, the nurse sat him down in a chair and hooked him up to the blood pressure machine.

The officer waited until he was seated to start his questioning. He had yet to give them his full statement. Opting instead to get into an ambulance and getting to the hospital as quickly as possible.

"So, tell me what happened, Goren?" the cop asked as he stared over at him.

"140 over 90," the nurse said as she checked his blood pressure. "Heart rate's high too, 115. Do you smoke?"

Looking over at the nurse, Bobby gave a nod. "Yeah."

"You have high blood pressure. Medication-"

"Can we deal with that later," he told her as he turned back to the cop standing in front of him. Raising his left hand, he said, "I tried to pull her up, she wanted to fall."

"So you're saying it was intentional?" the officer asked as he wrote that down. "She jumped?"

"More like fell, but yeah. It was intentional. She kept fighting me, crawling at my hand as I tried to hang onto her," Bobby told the cop as the nurse un-wrapped his hand and looked at his wounds.

"You've got some deep punctures," the nurse told him. "We'll set you up in a room once one becomes available."

He was trying not to pay too much attention to the nurse as he kept his focus on the cop. His head was starting to hurt and it was hard to keep from jumping out of the chair in search of Alex. Rubbing at his head, he felt the sweat coating his hair and forehead; the adrenaline he'd been feeling for most of the night was still running through him, making him feel hot and easily irritated.

"Why were you there?"

Bobby opened his eyes and stared at the cop as he asked, "What?"

The officer glanced to the nurse who was writing something down on a chart. "Why were you there? Why was she there? The building was locked and abandoned."

As he stared at the cop, he realized that he was going to have to lie. Bobby didn't want to lie, but he knew he had to in order to prevent other questions. Questions like why did he hold Nicole captive? Why did he drug her and tie her to a chair? Why did he point his gun at her and fire off a round? That last part couldn't be proven because the last round he put in his gun, making it the first round to be chambered, was a blank. He had only used it to scare Nicole. The next one, however, was a real bullet; one that he didn't have to use. Clearing his throat, he told the officer, "She wanted to talk."

The officer gave him a skeptical look as he asked, "To talk?"

Giving a nod, he said, "Yeah. She uh, she said she had something she wanted to tell me. That's where she wanted to meet. So, I went."

"And you didn't call the police?" the officer asked as he wrote all that down.

Bobby rubbed at his head as he thought about his answer to that. Finally, he dropped his hand and answered, "I am, or at least, I was…a cop. I didn't think about it. And I figured I'll call afterwards."

"She's a wanted felon, Goren. You know that."

"I know," he said with a sigh of defeat. "I'm not saying that I made the best decision. I just thought I could handle it. That's all. I wasn't expecting her to try and kill herself in front of me." Bobby looked up at the cop and told him, "That's why she wanted me there."

The officer wrote that down as he said, "She wanted you to watch?"

He gave a nod and felt slightly guilty for lying. It wasn't all a lie, but the reasons he was there and how it happened were all lies. Bobby knew it wouldn't matter how it was put on paper; the only other person who was there was currently unconscious and a known and wanted killer.

"You can go back out into the waiting area, Mr. Goren. We'll get to you as soon as possible," the nurse told him as she got up to leave.

Bobby stood and asked the officer as he passed, "Need anything else?"

"I'll run this by my partner and see if he has anything. I'm sure a couple of detectives will be here shortly to talk to you as well."

He watched as the officer walked through the waiting area and over to the reception desk where his partner was standing with a cup of coffee. Bobby realized that the officer was a rookie, his partner had Sergeants strips on his uniform. The senior cop was letting the rookie take the lead on this, letting him conduct the interview alone. That told him that the senior officer didn't think there was much too it. The Sergeant would believe anything he told them.

It didn't take long, only a couple of minutes, before his name was being called. Bobby hadn't even sat down when he was once again being lead into a room. He was given a couple of shots in his hand to numb it before the nurse started to stitch the wounds. There were three deep punctures; the rest was from where she scrapped down his arm and hand. They weren't deep and didn't need stitches, just bandaging. His hand was also swollen and bruised.

"I heard there was a cop brought in earlier," he said as he watched the nurse put a needle into his hand. "He was stabbed."

She nodded as she kept her eyes focused on the task. "Yeah, but I can't tell you anything."

"His name's Michael Logan. He was my partner uh, a few months ago."

The nurse stopped then and looked up at him. She searched his eyes before looking at the closed door before going back to her work. "He had a stab wound to the left side of his chest."

"It resulted in hemothorax…He was bleeding internally. The last I heard, he flat-lined." When the nurse glanced up at him, Bobby explained, "I was on the phone with his new partner, Detective Eames, while they were in the ambulance. I lost the call. Just, all I need to know is if he's still alive."

She sighed and said, "I honestly don't know. Last I heard, he was in surgery."

Bobby took that as a good sign. If Logan had died, he was certain everyone who worked in the hospital would've known. Things like that, a cop dying, wasn't a secret. "What floor?"

"Second," she told him before setting the small tools down and covering his hand with a sterile bandage and ointment. "There, all done."

Once he left the room, he had to sign a few forms and get a prescription. He passed by the two uniform officers who followed him to the hospital and didn't get stopped by either one as he headed to the elevator. As he waited, he heard a voice call out to him.

"Goren?"

Turning his head, he saw Captain Deakins coming up behind him. The man looked like he hadn't slept in days. There was a black eye-patch over his right eye and he remembered that the captain had suffered from a bout of Bell's palsy recently. He immediately straightened as he reached out to shake the man's hand.

That move caught Deakins off guard, but he quickly recovered and shook it. "I heard what happened."

"About Logan or me?"

Deakins smirked slightly as the elevator doors opened and a couple o doctors got off. "Both," he told him as he stepped into the car and waited for him to join him.

Once the doors slid shut, Bobby said, "I'm starting to remember."

"Oh, yeah?"

He watched as the numbers changed and the doors slid open again. Stepping off, he told Deakins as he looked around the hall, trying to figure out which way to go, "It's not everything, but it's enough. I remember what happened in the motel room; not the actual acts of what happened while I was drugged, but everything leading up to it. Brenda was the one who drugged me at Carmel Ridge."

Deakins stopped him with a hand to his chest as he started down the hall. They studied each other for a moment and then he said, "We'll set up a time later. You can come in and we can all sit down and hear the details. Right now," he trailed off as he nodded down the hall, "let's see how Logan's doing."

He could do that. Bobby let it go as he started to walk in-step with Deakins down the hall. It didn't take long to find the waiting area, or Alex. She was sitting in a chair, staring up at the ceiling, and looking ready to kill someone. Walking up to her, he gently tapped her knee. The moment she saw him, she got up and hugged him.

Then just as quickly she pulled away with a whispered apology, "Sorry."

Gripping her by the shoulders, he told her, "Don't be. Come here." He led her away from the others and once they were around the corner, he pulled her into a longer embrace.

Alex relaxed against him and started to shake.

Leaning down, he asked, "Is he still in surgery?" She gave a nod into his chest and he let out a deep breath of air.

"They revived him right after I lost the call," she said; her voice was tight and strained, making it hard to listen.

"He'll be okay. The fact that he's in surgery and not dead yet is a very good sign. If he was going to die from internal bleeding, he would be gone already." He was quiet for a moment as he just enjoyed Alex holding him and knowing she was okay. "How did it happen?"

"We thought the house was empty but there ended up being someone hiding in there. We're thinking he was just homeless. There were drugs found on him, so he was probably high and out of his mind when he attacked Mike. He shot him once and then Barek shot him when he came at us with a knife. He didn't make it; they pronounced him DOA when they got him here."

Bobby felt her shake and held her tighter. Even though the homeless man had nearly killed Logan, there was no pleasure in killing another human being. "How's Barek doing?"

"She's okay. It was a clean shoot." Alex stepped back enough to look up at him. She studied him for a long moment, much like Deakins had done. She narrowed her eyes and said, "You're acting more like you. Are you remembering?"

Using his right hand, he cupped her chin and tilted her head up towards his. Smiling softly, but painfully, he dropped his head all the way down and kissed her. There wasn't much he remembered, but what he did know was how much he loved the woman in his arms. He felt her arms tight around his neck, pulling him down closer as she pushed against him, and kissed him back with so much passion it nearly hurt. It was hard to break the kiss, but they were standing in the middle of a hospital hallway with people walking around them.

Sucking in a deep breath, he stared into her eyes and saw the relief and love radiating back at him. "I know that uh, that there's still a lot we have to deal with."

"Bobby," she said as she placed her hand on his chest, "don't worry about anything we might have to deal with until later, okay? I'm just so happy to have you back."

He cupped her face again, loving the feel of her skin in his hands and actually knowing how much she loved him, and him her. It felt like a great weight had been lifted. "I'm not all back," he told her as he kept her close despite where they were and who saw. "There's a lot I still don't remember, but," he sighed in frustration. "I don't know. It's…I get these thoughts and feelings, and suddenly, it's clear, you know. There's no…bombardment of memories. It's gradual. Like tonight, you told me that Logan been stabbed and I thought, not Mike. He saved my life, he's my friend. It was just there and I was thinking it without realizing what was going on. Or, I'll say something out of nowhere about something that happened years ago and…" he trailed off as he shook his head. "I won't necessary know all the details, but I know that it happened."

Alex smiled as tears filled her eyes. "That's great."

"And here, now, with you," he told her as he leaned down and kissed her again before pulling back. "I know how much I love you, Alex."

"I love you too," she whispered out as her voice shook. "It'll all come back. All it takes is time."

He dropped his hand and gave a nod, "I know, but it doesn't matter if I remember everything or not. We still love each other, and that's really all I care about right now."

Alex started laughing and he was confused before she said, "Since when did you get so sappy, Bobby?"

He smiled and shook his head, feeling slightly embarrassed but actually happy about it. "I think I'm just tired. You know how I get overly emotional when I'm tired." Bobby realized what he said and smiled some more. "See, it just comes out when I'm least expecting it."

Alex pulled him down for another quick kiss before telling him, "As long as it keeps coming. C'mon," she said as she took his hand, "I think we can find some pretty decent coffee somewhere. Let me ask the Captain first if he wants anything, then we can get out of here."

As they entered the waiting area, the door to the surgery wing opened and they all stopped to look at the doctor who walked out. Bobby wrapped his arm about Alex's shoulders as she leaned against his side and waited.

The doctor looked tired and ragged, but he wasn't avoiding eye contact and Bobby took that as a good sign as he asked who were there for Mike Logan. When everyone raised their hands minus a couple of people across the room, the doctor smiled slightly and asked, "Family?"

No one dropped their hands and the doctor looked skeptical, but he told them all, "He's out of surgery and he'll be moved to recovery soon."

"Oh, thank God," Alex said as she let out a deep breath and turned into him; she wrapped her arms around him, hugging him as he continued to listen to the doctor.

"That does not mean he's out of the woods yet. He's still critical and we're going to have to watch him very closely for the next couple of days. He lost a lot of blood and his lung was damaged. We'll be monitoring him for any blood clots or further internal bleeding, as well as his breathing. He had to be placed on a ventilator."

"When can we see him," Detective Barek asked from across the room.

"Once we've got him in recovery and he's stable, I can let one in at a time. It'll be a little while, couple of hours." The doctor answered a few more questions and then was pulled aside by Deakins for a one-on-one.

Bobby tugged Alex along with him and started for the elevators. It'd be awhile before they could see Mike so he figured they could get that cup of coffee and maybe eat something. He checked his watch and saw it was past three in the morning.

"Can I come along or do you two want to be alone?" Barek asked as she stepped over to elevator.

He looked to Alex who shrugged, saying, "Sure. I was thinking of getting some food somewhere."

Barek got on the elevator ahead of them and said, "I know of a diner around the corner that's open 24/7. They have great coffee."

No one spoke much as they headed out of the hospital and down the street. Alex was still attached to his hip and he figured it was because she missed having him close. It was fine by him, he missed her too. Once in the diner at a booth in the back, he closed his eyes and leaned back as he felt the exhausted of the day weighing down on him.

They all ordered coffee and something off the breakfast menu as they sat in silence. Barek was the first to break it as she said, "I heard you're remembering."

"A little, yeah," he said as the waitress returned with three cups and a pot of coffee. Bobby waited until she was done pouring before asking, "Refills are free, right?"

"Yep," she said as she went to walk away.

"Could uh, could you leave the pot, please?" Bobby asked before she could leave the table. "I'm sure we're going to finish it off and there's no one else in here."

The waitress hesitated for a moment but then sat the pot down and walked away.

Looking over at Alex, he saw her grinning and shaking her head. "What?" he asked as he picked the cup up with his right hand, and feeling the awkwardness of it, before taking a sip of coffee. He saw the sugar next to him and immediately used his injured hand to slide it over to her.

"Oh, nothing. It's just that you do that all the time," she told him as she picked up the sugar. "Thanks."

Bobby thought about it and remembered that he did do that all the time. And he also remembered that Alex liked sugar in her coffee.

"So, Goren," Barek said after she added cream to hers and took a drink. "What happened tonight?"

He looked over at her as he asked, "You mean with Nicole?" Bobby shook his head as he told her, "I'm not…liable to discuss it with you. It's still an ongoing investigation."

Barek raised her eyes as him and asked, "Where is she?"

Without missing a beat, he answered, "In the hospital."

Bobby didn't know anything about Barek, having first met her in the interrogation room. He knew that they had never worked together and that she was new to Major Case; so, he had no reason to trust her. He didn't know what think of her, or how to approach her just yet. What he did know was that he didn't need to answer to her. And so, he wasn't going to.

Alex shifted next to him and he looked over at her. He'd been staring Barek down and realized was being intimidating. Not meaning too, he tried to relax as he waited for his food.

"Captain Deakins said you remember what happened in the motel room," Barek told him as she leaned back a little in the booth.

"Then he also told you that he's going to set up a time to meet to go over it. I'm sure he'll want to get it all down on paper and make it official by having my attorney present." Bobby picked up his cup and took a sip as he heard the door to the diner open. Looking toward it, he saw two people walk in, a man and woman, and he immediately knew they were detectives.

Setting his cup down, he didn't wait for them to come to him as he got up and went to them. He looked back to Alex and shook his head, knowing she would want to follow. Stopping in front of the two cops, he offered his hand and introduced himself to them.

They told him that they had to talk. He gave a nod and left the diner.

Out on the sidewalk, he pulled out the pack of cigarettes and lit one as they started their questioning. He gave them the same answers he'd given the uniform officer at the hospital, never hesitating in his responses even as he lied about how he got there and why Nicole was there.

They finished their questions, but then Detective Martin asked, "If we question Miss Wallace, will she tell us the same?"

Bobby shrugged as he told the guy, "Probably not. She told me before she stepped off the ledge that if she died, she'd see to it that I'm held responsible."

Detective Martin looked to his partner and she continued to stare at him like she didn't believe him. That was fine with him.

He stared right back as he finished his cigarette and dropped it to the sidewalk. "Anything else? My breakfast is getting cold."

Detective Sanchez finally spoke up as she continued to stare unwavering at him, "There's not going to be a questioning of Nicole Wallace, Detective Goren."

Bobby stilled as he stared at her, feeling a heat of pain and rage clench his chest. "Don't tell me she died."

"Not yet, but she might as well be" she said before telling him, "she's in a coma."

He didn't know what to say or think of that as he gave a nod. That wasn't something he expected. Nicole was in a coma. Bobby cleared his throat and went to speak when nothing came out. Giving it some thought, he realized that he would be looked at by IA who would determine if he could be in anyway held accountable. He knew he wouldn't be; he did try to keep her from falling, but she wouldn't let him pull her up. He had to drop her; and he made sure he had dropped her so she wouldn't be killed instantly.

But, he did take her there. He did hold her captive in that building and made sure she went to the roof. He endangered her life. And, in a way, he forced her to make the critical move that landed her in a coma. That was why he had to lie. He was responsible. If IA found him responsible as well, he would no longer be able to be a cop. They would take his badge away.

So, in the end, he would rather lie. Nicole wasn't going to ruin his career because she couldn't let him go of her obsession with him. He wasn't going to let her.

Bobby finally gave a nod and turned to walk back into the diner. There was nothing left to be said. Alex had been watching him through the window and she was watching him now as he walked down the aisle back to the booth. His food was waiting for him, it was cold, and he no longer felt like eating it.

"What is it?" Alex asked as he picked up the coffee pot to refill his cup.

After taking a sip of the hot coffee, warming himself up from standing out in the cold, he told her, "Nicole's in a coma."

Alex's eyes went wide in shock as she continued to stare at him. "Are they saying it's your fault?"

Bobby shook his head but inside he just didn't know. "I'm sure IA is going to look into it. I guess I'll know what they're saying soon enough."

"Bobby, what did happen?" Alex asked.

Shaking his head, he told her, "You know I can't talk about it. It's best if I wait until after IA gets done snooping around. If I don't talk about it, they'll have no reason to talk to you about it. The only two people who were there were me and Nicole."

"And Nicole is in a coma," Barek said. "She's the only one who can tell her side, and she's unable to. That pretty much makes whatever you say the truth."

Bobby stared hard at the detective as he said, "You got something to say, Barek? Just say it."

"I know what you told Logan on the phone," she told him. "And so does Logan and Eames."

He looked from her to Alex and then back to Barek. "Hearsay isn't reliable testimony, and when it's taken out of context and without the knowledge of what was actually going on, it's even less reliable."

"You told Logan you couldn't let Nicole kill any more people because of you," Barek said as she leaned on the table. "Where am I taking that out of context?"

"Barek," Alex said with a hint of warning in her voice.

Bobby held his hand up, telling Alex to back off and that it was all right. "It's alright, Alex. I know how it sounds, but you weren't there," he said to Barek. "You weren't there and you had no idea what was going on, or what my motives were. I had no intention of killing Nicole. What happened to her was by her own doing. The only thing I did was try to save her…and I did that. She's still breathing right now because of me."

"Then what did you mean?" Barek asked and he could tell that she needed to know his answer to that.

He didn't know why, but he felt he had to tell her. It wasn't a secret why, but Bobby thought that she should've already known the answer to that question. "I meant I wanted justice, Barek. I wanted her to be held responsible for her crimes. I wanted her locked up in prison for life, or on death row. That's what I wanted." He picked up his cup and downed the rest of the coffee before digging into his pocket and pulling to some money. He tossed enough on the table and got up.

"Hey," Alex said as she went to get up.

"I'm going back to the hospital," he told her as he headed for the door. "You can stay and finish eating if you want."

Bobby didn't wait to see if she would follow him out of the diner or not, but then he realized he didn't have to. He stopped walking and turned to see her coming after him. "I knew you were going to follow me. You're becoming predictable," he teased as he waited for her to catch up to him.

"So are you. I knew the moment Barek asked her first question that you were going to bolt; it was only a matter of when," she told him as she once again wrapped her arm around his waist as they walked down the sidewalk toward the hospital. Then, after a moment, she said, "I hate leaving food like that. I should've at least gotten it to go; I'm starving."

"Then go back and get it," Bobby said as he stopped walking. "I'll wait."

Alex hesitated and he told her to go once again. She told him she'd be right back and started back to the diner.

* * *

_Bobby & Alex's Apartment_

_Greenpoint, Brooklyn_

As it turned out, they were unable to see Logan that evening and since they weren't technically his family, they all had to leave and come back during normal visiting hours. Bobby thought it was all bullshit, but there wasn't much he could do about it. Mike was alive and fighting and he was going to be okay, that was what mattered. He and Alex were both physically and mentally exhausted when they arrived home, so they didn't waste time in showering and getting into bed. He had taken a pain pill earlier and it didn't take long before he was fast asleep.

It was hours later, as the sunlight poured through the blinds, when he rolled over in bed, draped his arm over Alex's waist, and asked, "What house?"

Alex was just waking up as she shifted against him and moaned against the light. Burying her face into his chest, she said, "Wha?"

Chuckling at her sleepiness, moved his hand along her back and asked, "The house you were at last night. What was that about?"

She let out a deep breath against his skin and he felt the tinkle it sent down his spine. Bobby was starting to have trouble thinking properly, but he was interested in knowing. "Alex?"

"It was where Nicole was hiding out, or at least where we think she was hiding out at."

"Did you find anything?" he asked as his hand caressed her neck then her shoulders.

Alex shifted against him again but didn't answer. That didn't sit right with him; if they found nothing she would have told him that. Her silence told him that wasn't the case. They found something, and she didn't want to tell him what that was.

"How did this happen?" she softly asked herself.

"How did what happen?" he asked as he trailed his thumb over her chin and lifted her face up to his so he could kiss her.

Alex moaned into the kiss and once he broke it so he could kiss over her neck, she answered, "This," she said. "Us going back to being us like nothing happened."

Bobby stopped kissing over her neck as he told her, "That's not what we're doing. Something did happen; we're not ignoring that. The reason we're going back to being us is because there never stopped being an _us_. This, it's so easy, Alex. This is something we don't have to think too much about."

Alex cupped his face between her hands and brought his lips to hers. Everything else was forgotten as they lost themselves in each other; this time, Bobby didn't hold back in showing her how much he loved her.

Awhile later, after he showered and shaved, he sat in the kitchen nursing a cup of coffee and reading the morning paper when Alex walked in talking on her cell. Bobby dropped the paper as he heard his name being mentioned.

"Bobby's doing better," she spoke into the phone. "He's more himself and I'm sure he'll be up to it." Alex glanced over at him as she grabbed a cup and filled it with coffee. "We can make it, Captain. Two o'clock, I got it." She hung up and pointed at him, "Two o'clock, Major Case."

"My meeting with the Captain?" he asked as he took a sip of coffee.

"And Barek, Carver, and McCoy," she told him as she went over to the refrigerator. "We have the take-out from this morning. Wanna heat it up?"

"Uh, yeah." Bobby got up to refill his cup and glanced at the time. It was noon now. "You don't have to go if you don't want to."

"Other than visiting Logan, there's nothing else I've got planned for the day." Alex reached around him and opened the microwave to put in the take-out boxes. "Besides, I've got tons of paperwork to do for this case."

"I thought you had the day off," he said as he sat back down at the table.

Alex leaned against the counter as she waited for the food to heat up, telling him, "I do, but that doesn't mean I have to take it. I want this over with as soon as possible."

Bobby didn't put up a fight about it as he raised his hands and said, "Alright, whatever you want." He picked up the paper and went back to reading it as Alex sat down.

She pushed the paper down and handed him a box of food. "Eat."

Taking the box from her, he did as he was told. Halfway through eating his food, he looked over at her and said, "Alex, I really want to know if you found anything in that house."

Alex took a bite of her omelet as she looked up at him. He could tell she was a little apprehensive but he needed to know, especially now that he knew she was keeping it from him. She reached around her to the jacket she had slung on the back of the chair last night. Digging into the inside pocket, she pulled out a handful of Polaroid pictures.

The moment he saw what she had, he stilled and dropped his fork to the table. Getting up, he took the pictures from her. He remembered there being a Polaroid camera in the motel room and wondered about it. Now, as he looked through the pictures, he knew. He also knew what had happened during the time he couldn't remember; when he had been drugged.

"They were in an envelope addressed to a reporter."

"She was going to release these to the press?" he asked, mostly in shock and to himself. Bobby really wasn't expecting an answer. "Why? What stopped her? She had all the time in the world to send them out."

"I wondered that too," Alex said as she slowly got up out of the chair. "I think she wasn't expecting you to not remember anything. You changed her plans. Instead of releasing them, she decided to hang onto them."

Bobby couldn't stop looking at the pictures as he finished her thought, "Until she could use them against me, once I did regain my memory back or…or when the opportunity presented itself. She could've used these for anything…Blackmail." His hands started to shake as he flipped through them again. Looking up at her, and feeling the pain in his chest and tears in his eyes, he said, "You saw these."

"You were drugged."

'Yeah, and according to these, it was more than just what they injected me with," he angrily said as he tossed to pictures across the room, toward the table. The air caught them and they went flying, scattering all over his floor; some face up, others face down.

Alex stared down at the pictures littering his floor and asked, "There was no trace of drugs in your system."

"There wouldn't be," Bobby said as he paced over the floor, feeling his rage for Nicole growing faster and hotter in his chest. He remembered it being there, on the table, and he had gotten rid of it before he had passed out again. The possibility was there, but to be confronted with it as actually happening infuriated him. If he had been found sooner, he would've had it in his system. He would have been crucified by the press. Taking a breath, he told her, "It only would've been in my system for two days, at best. Twenty-four hours in my blood, one to ten days in my saliva, and two days in my urine…They didn't do a urinalysis test at the hospital, they only took my blood. But, even if they had, after two days it was out of my system. The only thing they can test now to prove that I ever had cocaine in my system would be a hair sample."

Alex was quiet for a moment before saying, "They collected hair at the motel."

Bobby stilled and looked over at her. He rubbed at his head and asked, "Mine?"

"Yes; I remember it being mentioned in the physical evidence report. There was no reason to test it. It's just sitting in evidence," she told him as she bent down and started picking up the pictures. "Bobby, this means nothing. We know you were drugged and that they did this to frame you. Nicole wanted to ruin you like you ruined her. She just couldn't use the truth like you did; she had to invent all these lies to destroy you. It didn't work," Alex told him as she held up the photos and tossed them on the table. "There's nothing she can do to you now. You beat her."

"There're those," he said as he pointed at them. "What're you doing with them anyway? Why aren't they in evidence?"

Alex looked away and rubbed at her forehead, something she did when she was uncomfortable talking about something. "Logan took them."

Bobby stared at her for a moment and said, "He took them? What…before he got stabbed he collected them, you mean?"

Alex sighed and returned her eyes to his. Sighing, she said, "No. He took them after he got stabbed. They're not in evidence because he put them in his jacket pocket."

Mike was protecting him? Shaking his head, he stepped away and said, "Mike wouldn't tamper with evidence."

"Well, he did," she told him as she looked down at them.

Bobby realized what that meant for her. She had taken them from Logan, and kept them herself. "You tampered with evidence."

"You don't deserve any of this, Bobby. And, they're not the truth. There's no reason for them to be looked at by CSU." Alex looked back over at him and he saw the tears in her eyes.

He couldn't believe it. He couldn't believe what they had become. Alex took evidence to protect him, so did Mike, and what did he do? He had lied to the police. He left a laugh shake out of his chest. God, they were all deep in it now. "I can't believe this." Bobby shook his head and walked over to pick up the pictures. He grabbed them and took out his lighter.

"What're you doing?" Alex asked as he walked over to the sink.

"I'm going to burn them," he told her as he flicked the lighter open and ignited the flame. Looking over at her, he asked, "What'd you think?"

Alex stared at him for a brief second, the debate of how wrong this was written all over her face, before she shook it away and gave a nod.

"Are you sure?" he asked as he held the pictures over the flame.

"Yes, I'm sure," she softly whispered to him.

Bobby hesitated for a moment and then set all the pictures on fire. He dropped them into the sink and let them burn into ashes. Staring down into the withering plastic, he told her, "I hope this doesn't change us…who we are, as cops, as people."

"This wasn't about being cops, Bobby. This was about being people who love each other."

He looked over his shoulder at her and felt a smile on his face. "Thank you."

"For what?" she asked as she walked over to him and leaned against his side.

Bobby tilted his head so he could catch her eyes. Once she looked at him, he told her, "For loving me this much."

Alex gave a nod and looked down as the last flame destroyed the last remaining picture. "We destroyed evidence, Bobby. I don't know how I'm supposed to feel about this."

"I know," he told her as he backed away from the sink and pocketed the lighter. "Neither do I." Bobby left Alex in the kitchen as he headed to the bedroom to change for his meeting with Captain Deakins.

TBC…


	20. Moving On

A/N: Final chapter! Thanks for the reviews and to everyone reading! There will be another story to come; I won't post until I finish 'Dogs of War', so it'll be awhile.

Enjoy!

* * *

_Two Weeks Later_

_Mike Logan's Apartment_

_Lower East Side, Manhattan_

He banged on the door until he heard the lock being dropped against it. He didn't back away as it was opened and revealed a woman; she was tall, dark, and had eyes that reminded him of Dorothy Dandridge. Bobby looked at her for a moment and said, "Uh…do I know you?"

She shook her head slightly at him and said, "Yes, we used to date, remember."

He wrinkled his head in confusion as he asked, "You sure?"

"It's Denise, Bobby. I can't believe you still don't remember-"

He started to laugh a little and she reached out to hit him on the arm. "Ouch, I was only kidding. Is Mike awake?"

Denise let him into the apartment, telling him, "He's up; I don't know about awake." She shut the door behind her and placed the lock back on the door.

He turned to her and held out the bag he had in his hand. "Want a donut? They're chocolate."

She grabbed the bag from him and took them with her into the kitchen. "Coffee?"

"Yes, please." Bobby looked around the living room and spotted the tell-tell signs that Denise was becoming a permanent fixture in his friend's life. An untrained eye would have missed the subtlety, like the Essence magazine he spotted on the coffee table, a few jazz CD's he knew Logan would've even know about on the stereo system, and the woman's jacket hanging on a hook by the door. "How is he?"

"He can walk on his own. He swears he can go back to work but I guess he'll find out today whether or not his doctor agrees. Thanks for taking him to his appointment, Bobby."

He walked into the kitchen and leaned against the doorframe. Smiling, Bobby took the offered cup of coffee from her and one of the donuts he brought. "How are you?"

She smiled over at him and he could see how happy she was just by that smile. Bobby remembered her giving him a few of those a long time ago. Well, two years, but it was long enough, especially since he was in love with Alex. It felt like he'd been in love with her for…forever.

"I'm good, thanks for askin'."

"Hitting on my girl, Goren," Logan said as he walked around him into the kitchen.

Bobby moved out of his way as he took a bite of the donut and drink of coffee. "I think she likes me, Mike."

Logan shot him a look before leaning over and giving his girlfriend a kiss.

"I'll…" Bobby gestured over his shoulder as he turned around to leave the kitchen.

Sitting down on the couch, he waited for Logan to get ready as he pulled out his cell phone and made a call.

After a couple of rings, she answered, "Eames."

"I'm going to have to delay our dinner date tonight," he told her and instantly regretted having to do it.

Alex groaned and he heard the disappointment in her voice. "Is there a good reason why?"

Bobby downed his coffee and the last of the donut before telling her, "I've got a meeting." She was quiet on the other end and he further explained, "It's with Captain Cragen."

"Tonight?" she asked in confusion.

Bobby leaned back and rubbed at his head. It was only eleven in the morning, and he was already craving a smoke and a drink. The cravings had gotten worse as his memory continued to get better, sharper, and clearer. There were still things he hadn't remembered yet, but he most of it was back. And with his returning memory, and the fact that he was cleared of any wrong doing in Caleb Cunningham's death, along with Brenda's, he would soon be back to work.

Alex was at Major Case now, finishing up paperwork and preparing to have Logan return as her partner. They put Barek with a new guy who just transferred from his old Narcotics department, Brooklyn North. As for him, he would be hopefully be returning to Special Victim's by the end of the week. He only had one thing he had to do before then, and that was tonight at six with Captain Cragen.

"Yes, tonight," he told her as he thought about the past few weeks.

Despite what had happened and all the reasons behind it, he had come to the conclusion that it was in part his fault. He had been slowly going down for a long time; putting himself into very vulnerable positions, not taking good care of himself, and obsessing over all the wrong things. His obsession with Nicole had helped to fuel her obsession with him, and that caused it all. Nicole had sought out ways to hurt him. In that search she found his brother, she found Caleb, his real father, and she had used all of it to hurt him. And he had let her.

Well, he was done letting her have that power over him. It helped that she was, and probably would be, forever in a coma. He knew where she was and he knew she wouldn't be hurting anyone else. He still didn't know who his real father was, and like he had told Nicole, he didn't care. He was raised by William Goren; he was his dad. His childhood with William was what shaped him to be the man he was, and nothing Nicole told him would change that.

He had two choices: learn from his past and move on, or, let it destroy him. Before, he would've let it destroy him. He would have dwelled and obsessed over what he could not change. Now, after everything that had happened, he realized it was time to finally let it all go.

Part of that moving on was the meeting tonight with Cragen. He couldn't deny it any longer, and if he could beat his demons than he could do anything. He could maybe finally actually start loving Alex the way she deserved to be loved.

"Should I be worried," Alex asked and he felt like smiling at her concern.

"No. I'll call when I'm on my way home. I love you," he told her and it felt so good being about to say it without any baggage hanging off it like there used to be.

He couldn't explain it, but the amnesia had seemed to help him. Bobby was able to take his memories and gradually explore them and keep them at a distance that he hadn't been able to do before. Instead of feeling damaged and broken by them, he felt relieved. He was able to tell himself that they were the past, and that they needed to remain there. His demons had no place in his future with Alex. Not anymore.

"I love you too," she told him before they hung up.

Bobby pocketed his phone and looked up as Logan walked into the room. He had changed out of the sweats and t-shirt he'd been wearing and into a pair of jeans and button-down shirt. "Ready?"

"As I'll ever be," Logan muttered in annoyance as he headed for the door. "I'm ready to get back to work."

"You and me both," Bobby said as he got up off the couch and followed him to the door. As Mike grabbed his coat and pulled it on, he called out, "See you later, Denise!"

"Watch him, Bobby, he actually thinks he didn't just have life-saving surgery two weeks ago," she told him as she walked into the room carrying a cup of coffee and cell phone. "This is yours." She handed Logan the cell and gave him a kiss. "We need to get together for dinner sometime, Bobby. I'll like to get to know Alex better."

"I'll talk to her about it; I'm sure she wouldn't mind." Bobby pushed him out the door and when he went to help him down the steps, Logan shoved him in to the wall, causing him to laugh. "Making sure you could still defend yourself."

Logan huffed out a laugh as he continued down the steps. "Don't push it, Bobby."

"What're you mad about?" he asked once they were outside. Bobby rounded his car and opened the door to get in. "You're about to be given the okay to go back to work…You're alive. Stop being so angry all the time."

Logan turned to him once they were in the car. He looked him over and said, "You've changed."

Bobby looked over at Logan and said, "I had lost my memory, Mike."

"I'm not just talking about that. Even now, with your memory returning, you're still different."

He saw the light change and immediately stepped on the gas. "How am I different? I really want to know what you think is so different about me that's making you this pissed off?"

Logan breathed out as he turned and looked out the window. He didn't say anything for a long moment before telling him, "You're not caring."

Bobby barely heard that as he eased the car into the right hand lane to make a turn. He glanced over at Logan as he took the right turn. He didn't know what Logan was trying to tell him. He cared. At least, he thought he cared. "What am I not caring about? I think I care more now than I ever did."

"You care about not caring."

"That doesn't even make any fucking sense, Mike."

"Yeah, it does. You would want to know."

"I would?" he said skeptically as he looked over at Logan.

Logan turned to him and said, "Yeah, you would. There's a man out there who's your real father. A man who was with your mother while she was married to the man you thought was your father. You knew your dad cheated, but not your mom and you don't care!"

Bobby felt his chest tighten at that accusation. It wasn't that he didn't care, he did. It was the fact that he knew he'd been confronted with that before, and it had nearly ruined his life. Shaking his head, he told Logan as calmly as he could, "I choose not to care. I choose not to let her win. And I definitely choose not to let it do to me what it did to me before. I knew before. I remember…I freaked out, Mike. I went to talk to my mother about it and she refused even acknowledge that I was there. I knew the entire time and I couldn't face it. So, what did I do? I made myself forget _everything_. I don't care? I care to never lose my memory again, that's what I care about, you asshole."

"Oh, so now I'm an asshole!" Logan snapped.

"You're acting like one," Bobby stressed back to him as he stopped for another light. "What'd you want me to do? You want me to go and beat down my brother for answers? You want me to run my DNA against every DNA sample in the system, across the United States, and see if my father's ever been arrested? I can do that you know, but it still won't change anything."

"You'll know. And if you were the Bobby Goren you were before, you would want to know. You'll be obsessing over the not knowing," Logan told him as he pointed his finger at him. "That's what I'm talking about. You're not giving a shit and it just isn't right."

Bobby took a left turn and stopped in front of the clinic. "I'm not staying."

"Good, I'll take the subway," Logan angrily yelled as he got and out slammed the door shut. He walked around the car and stepped up onto the sidewalk and stopped. Turning around, he tapped on the glass.

Bobby sighed and rolled the window down manually.

Logan stood in front of him with a chastened look before softly admitting, "I forgot my wallet."

Bobby shook his head as he dug into his jacket pocket. He pulled out a twenty and handed it to him. "How could you forget your wallet?"

Logan shrugged as he started for the door. "I haven't needed it for over a week."

Before Logan opened the door, Bobby yelled from the car, "Hey, Mike." Once he turned around, he asked, "This weekend, dinner at my place?"

Logan smiled and gave him a wave before heading into the clinic.

* * *

_Major Case Squad_

It was going on three in the afternoon and she was getting so tired of paperwork. Going through another stack of forms, she transferred all the information into the department's database before placing it on a stack to be delivered to the Captain for final approval. It was a long process and it was starting to get tedious. Alex muffled a yawn, took a sip of her herbal tea, and then got started on another one.

She was halfway done with it when she saw someone next to the desk. Looking up, she was surprised to see Logan there. "Mike."

"Hey, Alex, you got a minute?" Logan asked as he glanced around the squad room. He saw Detective Barek across the room talking to one of the civilian employees over a file.

"Sure," she said as she closed the laptop.

Logan looked back down at her and gestured over his shoulder, asking, "You need a break?"

Alex smiled slightly as she got up. "I'd love one."

She followed Logan out of the squad room and down to the cafeteria. After getting a couple cups of coffee and a salad for her, they grabbed a table against the far wall. Logan was looking better. The last time she saw him was in the hospital a couple of weeks ago. He had been groggy and annoyed, but happy to be alive. They hadn't talked much, and neither one of them had yet to bring up what happened in that house. Or the fact that he had taken evidence from the scene. All she told Logan when he had asked about it was that it was taken care of.

Then he had been discharged a few days later and had been holed up in his apartment ever since. Alex knew he was in a relationship and that Denise was staying with him during his recovery, so she hadn't been by to see him.

Logan looked to be deep in thought as he took a couple sips of his coffee. He hadn't shaved in days and he kept rubbing a hand over the hair growth on his jaw and chin. Finally, he said as he looked over at her, "How's Bobby doing?"

Alex gave a shrug as she told him with a slight teasing tone, "He's almost back to normal, whatever that is."

Logan chuckled and was quiet for a moment. She could tell that there was more to it, and she was suddenly on edge. She knew that Bobby had driven Mike to his doctor's appointment this morning. Which reminded her, "How did the appointment go?"

"Great," he said with a wide smile. "Everything's healing properly. There appears to be no lingering damage. Doc says I'll be able to get on desk duty starting next week."

"I'm glad to hear it; you can take over doing the paperwork," she tease and Logan smiled wider.

"Gladly," he said before he told her, "He's not right."

Alex stared over at Logan as she felt a deep worry twist her gut. "Bobby? Mike-"

"He's not, Alex. I can tell."

"Can you?" Alex asked as she continued to stare over at her partner. "You've only known Bobby for three months. I've known him for over four years. He's actually doing pretty damn well. He's happier, like he used to be before the world beat him down. Mike, you never knew what he was like before everything started going to hell. This is it. All the burdens, the baggage, the depression…It's all gone. And I couldn't be happier."

"I'm not talking about that," Logan stressed as he leaned a little on the table. "I'm really happy that he's finally stress free and that's he's lightened up a lot. He's much easier to get along with and I'm actually excited to have him as a friend. What I'm talking about is his sudden lack of empathy."

Alex sighed and shook her head, telling him, "That hasn't changed."

"Yes, it has. I don't know how he's going to be on the job; it doesn't seem like his empathy has changed when it comes to victims and all that. But, he's not caring about his own life. He's completely indifferent to anything concerning himself. It's no wonder all his burdens are gone, he doesn't care. He stopped caring."

Alex sat still for a long moment as she thought that over. It was hard to admit that Logan was right. Logan being right meant that there was something wrong with Bobby. Yes, he was happier, but at what price. She took a breath and told him, "He hasn't visited his mother."

Logan narrowed his eyes at her and asked, "Sundays, right? That was yesterday, and he didn't go?"

Alex shook her head. "I asked him if he remembered that he visited her every Sunday. He told me he did, but he didn't go. I asked if he was going to call her, he said he'd get around to it. HE never did. She called him last night, but…" she trailed off as she shook her head. "He didn't answer it. He looked at it ringing and I asked him who it was; he told me it was his mother, and he shut the phone. I've never seen him not accept a call her; the only exceptions were if we were in the middle of an interview."

Logan gave a nod in understanding. "Then I'm not the only one who's noticed."

"I'm trying not to get paranoid yet," Alex said as she tried to fight the unease out of her chest. "He's still recovering. There are still a lot he doesn't remember."

"How much?"

Alex rubbed at her head; it was starting to hurt a little. "I don't know. He doesn't give me a play-by-play, Mike. He'll mention things in passing." After giving it some thought, he told him, "It's mostly from his adulthood." He wrinkled her head in confusion as she gave it more thought. "Now that I think about it, he hasn't mentioned much of his childhood."

"That necessarily doesn't mean he's not remembering his childhood," Logan told her as he finished his coffee. "He's always been private about that part of his life."

"Yeah," she said even though she wasn't convinced. She finished her coffee and made it a point that tonight she would ask Bobby if he was recovering any of his childhood memories. Looking over at Logan, she gave him a small smile, "He'll be fine."

Logan tried for a smile as well, but he looked miserable and unconvinced. "We'll see."

They returned to the squad room and were immediately waved over by Captain Deakins. "You too, Logan," he said as he went back into his office.

Alex was the first in and waited for Logan to walk in before shutting the door. Taking a seat, she waited.

Deakins sat on the edge of his desk and he asked Logan, "How're you doing?"

"I'm good. Doc says I'll be able to come back next week."

"That's good," Deakins smiled before pointing at him, "but I'm going to start you on desk duty."

"Yes, Cap," Logan told him as he took a seat. "So, what's this about?"

Deakins crossed his arms and looked them both over before telling them, "Well, first off, Benjamin Lubik tried to run. He was stopped by Jersey PD for excessive speed on the turnpike. They're waiting for us to come pick him up."

Alex figured the guy might have tried to take off. Last week they had finally tracked him down and formally charged him with conspiracy and harboring a fugitive. Lubik had been helping Nicole Wallace with more than just lending her the house to live in. He'd been helping her evade police ever since she disappeared after going into the East River months ago.

The captain wasn't done as he paused a moment and then reached around to pick up a file. He handed it to her and said, "The reason the house was for sale, and has been on the market for so long is that it has a history."

Alex took the file and glanced over at Logan before opening it. She looked at the name and then the picture of the man the file was on. Looking up at Deakins, she said, "You've got to be kidding me. Mark Ford Brady, the serial killer."

"It was the house he grew up in," Deakins confirmed before growing quiet.

Logan muttered something under his breath before shaking his head. "Damn."

Alex glanced over at him and saw the look on his face. She then looked back at the file and wondered why that house. Then, she shut the file and shook her head as it clicked. "There's no way."

Deakins nodded but said, "We'll have to check."

"No we don't," she said as she glared up at her captain. "This was all a game to Nicole, based on lies. This is just another lie. We're not going to play this game any longer, Captain. She's out of the picture. And as far as I'm concerned, I hope she never wakes up."

Deakins was quiet again as he stared back down at her. Then he held out his hand, gesturing for the file. She handed it over to him as she got up to leave the office. "You're right. There is no merit to it. There's no reason to ever consider the possibility-"

"No, there isn't," Alex said as she stopped at the door.

Logan finally spoke up, asking, "We're going to keep this from him?"

"There's nothing to keep from him but more lies," Alex said as she crossed her arms. "He doesn't need this right now."

"It's not right," Logan said as he got up and turned to her. "We all know now that his father wasn't his father. We know that he had a half-brother who was a complete psychopath. And there's a possibility that all this time Nicole was trying to tell him that his father was also a complete psychopath."

Alex took a deep breath and glared at Logan. "And you want to go to Bobby and tell him that? Look at what happened last time."

"Well, if he's still as uncaring as he has been, it won't even make him bat an eyelash!"

"Hey!" Deakins yelled, silencing Alex before she could have a comeback. "What's all this about? Is Goren okay?" he asked as he turned to her.

Logan was the one to answer, saying, "Oh, he's great. He doesn't give a shit about his own mother, but he's fine."

"That's not fair, Mike," Alex snapped as she stepped up to him. "I'd like to see what you're like after you've lost your whole life. Give him time."

"And then what? Then we still do nothing?" Logan said as he stepped away from her. He was clenching his fists and she wasn't sure who he was angry with, but she was ready to leave.

"Yes," she said. "Because like the Captain said, there is no merit to this claim."

"So we ignore it," Logan said as he turned around. "Wallace killed two people over this. You think she did all of that over something that held no merit? How did she find Caleb Cunningham anyway? She knows more than we do. She knows more about Bobby's life than Bobby!"

Everyone grew quiet as they all looked around the office at one another. Alex was having a hard time keeping calm as she felt her entire chest start to ache. There needed to be a decision made, and she knew what it would have to be. She would keep this from Bobby as long as possible because it was a lie. It had to be.

Deakins gave a nod and said, "It doesn't have to be included in the file. However, we're not going to just forget this. I think the easiest, and the best thing to do, is to inform Goren of the details. If he wants to know, if he wants tested, then we'll respect his wishes. If not…" he left the rest unsaid as he tossed the file on the desk.

It took a moment for her to steady her breathing; once she was calm, she gave a nod before shaking her head at Logan. She turned around and left the office; feeling extremely pissed off and scared at the same time.

She was scared because she had no idea what this knowledge could do to Bobby, especially now that he was doing so much better.

* * *

_Basement of Lady of Lord's Catholic Church_

_Chelsea, Manhattan_

He looked around the cemented room and spotted the man he was searching for standing by a long table full of refreshments. Walking over to the table, he unzipped his coat and took it off as the temperature in the room increased. He stopped at the table and reached for a cup as he said, "Good evening, Captain."

Cragen was startled as he saw him next to him. "Goren? What're you doing here?"

"Moving on," he said as he glanced over to his Captain. "You said Monday at six, right?" Picking up the pot of coffee, he said, "I'm taking it that the coffee is decent," he gestured to the cup Cragen had poured for himself.

"Yeah, it's okay," Cragen said as he continued to look at him. "This is a surprise. How did you know I was here?"

"I asked around." At seeing the shocked look on Cragen's face, he chuckled and told him, "I followed you."

"Oh," he said, releasing some of the tension that had built. "Well, how're you?"

"I'm good, thanks," he said with a smile as he mixed in some powder creamer. "I'm following Doctor Olivet's orders and we have a meeting scheduled for Wednesday. Then after that, I should be reinstated and back to work by the weekend."

"Don't worry, you will be. I already talked to the Chief and he's just waiting for Olivet's final word of approval. C'mon, let's grab a seat," Cragen said as he gestured to the row of chairs.

Bobby took a seat in the front row along with Captain Cragen, placing his coat on the back of the chair. He leaned back and took a look around the room as he sipped on the coffee.

"Tell me, Goren, what's your real reason for being here?" Cragen asked as others started to enter the room and take their seats.

Bobby took out a pack of gum and offered one to Cragen who waved it off. Taking out a piece, he un-wrapped the stick of gum and stuck it in his mouth while thinking of his answer to that question. Putting the pack back into his jeans pocket, he said, "It was a good thing, the amnesia. Helped me to reset, you know. Clear out all that was poisoning me from the inside. Uh, emotionally, mentally…and, I don't want to be there, to that…dark place I was before ever again. I was on a downward spiral and I can't deny it anymore."

"Deny what?" Cragen asked.

That was a big question. And before, it had been so hard to answer it. However, now, it seemed so easy. "That I need help, Captain. I know that now. I was self-destructing…and alcohol was my crutch, my tool. That's why I'm here."

"And the gum?"

Bobby smiled slightly as looked around and watched as the last person entered the room and then shut the door. Posted on the door was the Twelve Steps to sobriety. "If I'm expected to beat one addiction, I have to beat them all. I haven't had a cigarette in sixteen days." He felt a hand on his shoulder and looked over to see Cragen smile.

"Good for you."

Giving a nod, he turned back as the meeting got underway. The first order of business was to ask if there were any new members who wanted to start it off.

Without hesitating, Bobby stood and with release of breath introduced himself. "I'm Robert…and I'm an alcoholic."

* * *

_Alex's Apartment_

_Rockaway, Queens_

Alex had been very slowly moving into her apartment. She was fine with that since she was in no real hurry to move out of Bobby's apartment. He had made a comment that the apartment could be a getaway of sorts. She had to admit that she liked that idea. They could turn this apartment into a retreat. It was out on Rockaway, and only a few streets over from the beach. So, that was what they decided on. She would still live with Bobby, but on the weekends or whenever, they would come out here. Or whenever she had her nieces and nephew, she could bring them there so they could go to the beach and have a kind-of hangout.

So, she was decorating it accordingly. Bobby had suggested a theme and she rolled her eyes at him. Then she thought it wasn't such a bad idea. If it was going to be a retreat for them, why not have some fun with the place. Make it look like they were out in the middle of nowhere.

When Bobby had called her earlier, she had told him she was there and not in Brooklyn. He told her that he could come there instead, and bring groceries to cook her dinner. She liked the idea of that and told him she couldn't wait. The only furniture still in the place was the mattress on the living room floor; only this time she now had the box spring that went with it. She had gotten her entertainment center out of storage by had no TV seeing how hers was in the bedroom in Brooklyn. But, she did find her stereo. It was a combination record, CD, and cassette player. She had scavenged through her storage space and the only box she could find had all her old records and cassettes. Most of her CD's were either in her car or at Bobby's anyway. So she dug a record out and put it on, dropped the needle and smiled as the music filled the apartment.

There was a knock and the door and she put down a record she was looking at, and wondering why she even had it, and went to let Bobby in.

He was holding two full brown paper bags and one plastic was dangling from his fingers. "Can you?" he asked as he held out his hand.

Alex took the plastic bag as he walked in. "It's a good thing I also found my box with all my cookware."

"Yeah," he said as he hurried toward the kitchen. "I stopped by my place first and picked up what I would need if you didn't."

Alex shut and locked the door before following him. "How'd you like it?"

Bobby sat the bags down and looked around with a approving nod. "Great. Got a pot?"

She chuckled and pointed to the cabinet by his knees. "Want a drink?"

Bobby shook his head before reaching into a bag and pulled out a six pack of soda. "I'm not drinking."

Alex smiled a little and said, "Okay, but I've got wine if-"

"You're not…" he stopped as he stared at the counter for a moment. Bobby rubbed at his head as he peered up at her. "I, uh…I'm not drinking, Alex."

She looked at him as heard the sternness in his words. Alex saw the determination in his eyes and asked, "What're you saying?"

He reached over and took her hand. Giving it a squeeze, he said, "Tonight, the reason I'm late it's because I went to a meeting…AA. Captain Cragen, he's uh…he's now my sponsor."

Alex sucked in a breath before the tears filled her eyes. "I'm…God, Bobby, I'm so proud of you."

He smiled and she saw how happy he was to hear that.

Alex went to him and pulled him into a hug. She didn't want to let go. "This is great. You know you don't have to."

"I want to," he told her as he stepped back. "I need to take control over my life, and this is a step. I want to do this."

Alex stared up into his eyes; they were so full of love and hope it nearly hurt her heart. She pulled him down for a kiss. After a moment, he broke it as her phone started to ring. "I hate my phone."

Bobby chuckled as he let her go. "Answer it. I've got dinner to make."

Alex grabbed her phone off the counter and pulled out the charger. Seeing that it was Logan, she told him, "I'm going to take it in the bedroom."

Bobby didn't even question her as he pulled out the pot and grabbed a bag of groceries.

Once in the bedroom with the door shut, she answered, "What'd you want, Mike?"

"Hello to you too. Have you told him yet?" he asked without hesitation.

Alex shook her head into the phone as she told him, "I'm not telling him."

"You have to," Logan nearly snapped. "We can't keep this from him."

"He went to AA, Mike."

Logan went quiet before asking incredulously, "He went to AA?"

"Yeah. He just told me. Do you know what damage this could do if we tell him now? He's finally admitting he needs help, and I won't sabotage that," she stressed to him.

He was silent for a moment and she could hear his deep breathing over the phone. "Okay."

She let out a breath of relief. "Thank you."

"Yeah…whatever you say, Eames," Logan told her right before he hung up.

Alex closed her eyes and groaned. Logan wasn't really okay with it, but he would do it. She knew this was putting a strain on him and she wasn't quite sure why. Trying to think too much about it, but losing, she shut her phone and headed back out into the kitchen.

Bobby had filled a glass with ice and the cola and was sipping on it as he covered the pot and set the heat on low. "It's going to be awhile."

"I'll make a fire," she said as she took her drink into the living room.

Alex got a fire going in the fireplace and was standing in front of it sipping on her glass when Bobby stepped up behind her. He wrapped an arm around her waist and drew her back as he sat down on the mattress, bringing her with him. She sat between his legs as he wrapped both arms around her waist, holding her.

"We're going to be okay," he softly told her as he placed his chin on her shoulder.

Alex reached up, running her hand over his face and through his hair. "Yeah, we are."

"I love you."

Smiling to herself, she told him, "I love you too."

The End of this story…

To be continued in Part 6, which will be titled "Dark Was the Night"


End file.
